


The One Where Alec Says Jace

by bisexual-jace (mychemicalclifford)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual Clary Fray, Bisexual Jace Wayland, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Jealousy, Multi, Pansexual Isabelle Lightwood, Pansexual Simon Lewis, Pining, Secret Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-07-20 05:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16130792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychemicalclifford/pseuds/bisexual-jace
Summary: Alec is getting married. Clary and Izzy are something complicated. Simon is hopeless, awkward and desperate for love. And Jace is Alec's lobster.-a F.R.I.E.N.D.S AU.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shirasade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirasade/gifts).



> Happy gift exchange Jalec Fam! 
> 
> This one is for the lovely and talented shirasade. I hope you enjoy this FRIENDS AU as much as I adore all of your AU fics <3 
> 
> Here is Part I. The second part is about halfway done and I hope to have it posted soon. This story is inspired by the Ross's Wedding episode and will include a lot of FRIENDS references because I love that show. Anyway, enjoy!!

 

“Losing you is a poem I still haven’t written yet. I never thought I’d have to.”

― [ **Trista Mateer**](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8382753.Trista_Mateer)

* * *

 

Lydia pauses to knock half-heartedly on the door. She’s been friends with Isabelle and Clary for some time now, but it still goes against twenty-nine years of manners she was raised with to barge in.

As always, there’s no answer and Lydia walks in anyway. The apartment is in a state of familiar semi-chaos. Jace is shamelessly digging through the fridge in the kitchen, turning a deaf ear to the swarms of noise around him.

There’s already a bowl of chips and guacamole on the counter, picked at, and a half-eaten bag of pretzels yet Jace is hunting for more food. Upset about something, Lydia notes. Jace tends to stuff his face to compensate for emotions he doesn’t want to deal with—and unfairly never gains a pound, despite Simon’s taunting that his ass is as big as Long Island.

“Hey Jace,” Lydia calls out as she comes in.

There are loud voices shouting at each other from Clary and Isabelle’s open doorways. Both girls are doing last-minute packing from the sounds of it. Simon is watching an old The Office episode from the white couch in the living room.

Simon turns his head toward her. “Hey Lyds.” He throws her a small wave.

Lydia leans back against the pool table. “Where’s Groom Number One?”

Simon still snickers in amusement at their nickname before he points behind him. Lydia’s eyes follow the direction to the balcony outside. Through the glass she can spot Alec’s tall figure with his back to her, smoke puffing out into the open air around him.

Lydia winces to herself. “How bad?”

Horror flashes through Simon’s eyes behind his glasses. He shakes his head slowly. “Be glad you missed it. They were _screaming_ at each other before Jace came inside.”

Ah, that explains why Jace is currently licking at Clary’s supply of chocolate-covered strawberries. Lydia nods, ignoring Simon’s worried glance as she passes by him and heads to the balcony entrance—the Danger Zone. She very well might get her head bitten off, but it’s her duty as Alec’s Best Woman or whatever to go anyway.

The rancid scent of smoke hits her as soon as she steps onto the balcony. Lydia coughs, fanning the streams away from her face. Alec turns his head to look at her, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t bitch,” he warns. “You knew I was out here.”

“Contaminating the clean air,” Lydia retorts, throwing back a sharp look of her own.

She walks over to stand beside him, staring out at the view of the Manhattan street. The loud voices of their friends inside are muffled from out there. Lydia can understand why Alec needed the quiet space to breathe. It’s been two years and she still isn’t used to all the noise and motion and never-ending disorder.

Two years since she graduated Columbia Law, top of her class. _After_ Alec, as he is keen to remind her. They’d became good friends outside the cut-throat animosity of the class room. At some point Alec decided Lydia was the only acceptable study partner for him, someone who could actually keep up with him—and the rest is history.

Lydia rests her elbows on the railing, waiting him out. Her lips curl into a smile when Alec stamps out his cigarette. It’s a privilege being one of the handful of people in the world Alec would do that for. Sometimes it’s easy to believe she’s known him forever, but she assumes that’s what it’s like for kindred spirits. She and Alec are two sides of the same coin.

“He’s such a _prick_ ,” Alec finally spits. His hands clench around the railing’s edge.

Jace, of course. There’s one person she knows that can get Alec so worked up. The blonde boy has an unparalleled method of getting under Alec’s skin and for that reason _he_ was the last of Alec’s friends that Lydia warmed up to.

Lydia sighs. “He still isn’t coming?”

“He won’t even give me a reason!” Alec continues furiously. “He _rejects_ being my Best Man. He gets absolutely _wasted_ at my engagement party. And now he refuses to go to my wedding—my best fucking friend—and he won’t tell me why!”

She presses her lips together, the guilt rising up her throat like acid. Because she knows exactly why. They all do. But no matter how much Lydia hates lying to Alec, she can’t tell him. It isn’t her place.

“Izzy knows why,” Alec adds with a disgusted scoff. Lydia hold back a flinch. “I know she does. I expected that kind of shit from Simon and Clary, but not my own sister. She won’t spill. She says I have to _respect Jace’s decision_.” Alec grits his teeth at that. “They’ll all lying to me!”

“He’s going to regret it,” Lydia says, because she can’t say anything else. “He will, Alec. He’ll regret missing his best friend’s wedding for the rest of his life.”

“It doesn’t matter if he regrets it,” Alec says lowly. His eyes close for a moment, exhaling shakily. “I…I need him there, Lydia. It’s _Jace_.”

“Did you tell him that?” Lydia asks, doubtful. Alec isn’t one for admitting _weakness_ , as they see it. They’re lone wolves. They thrive on their own.

All Alec mutters is, “I shouldn’t have to.”

His cell phone starts blaring then, piercing the quiet. _Magnus_ , Lydia sees on the screen when Alec flips it over. She starts retreating to the door.

“Say hi to Groom Number Two,” Lydia teases.

Alec doesn’t smile. His face is still dark, a storm cloud lingering after the explosion of thunder, when he swipes to accept the call. Lydia turns her back to give him privacy and ducks inside.

“Lyds!” Isabelle screams even though Lydia is 98 percent sure the younger girl can’t see her from her bedroom. “I need you! NOW!”

Smirking to herself, Lydia heads straight to Isabelle’s bedroom on the other side of the apartment. The couch is empty this time around. Clary’s bedroom door is closed, but she can hear Simon’s voice filtering from the other side. Those two are probably watching something on YouTube and leaving Clary’s packing till the last minute. Typical.

Izzy beams at her when Lydia comes in, shutting the door behind her.  “Perfect! Here take this.” She hands Lydia one of her firm purple pillows. “We’re gonna knock some sense into this IDIOT right now!”

“Oh fuck off!” Jace grumbles.

He’s sprawled on his back on Isabelle’s bed, his sock-clad feet resting on her open suitcase. He peers up at Lydia through half-lidded eyes. “Did you kiss it better for him, _Lyds_?”

Lydia expertly ignores him. She’s come to predict when Jace is in one of his self-destructive moods and she won’t indulge in it. “Are you all packed?” She asks Izzy.

“Just about.” Isabelle dumps about her entire drawer of bras and thongs into another open suitcase. Lydia doesn’t bother mentioning they’ll be in Idris for a few days. Izzy likes to have a _just in case_ pair of everything.

Lydia goes to climb on the bed, shoving Jace until he shuffles over. The blonde is two years younger than her and has grown into the kid brother Lydia never wanted. Once Lydia is settled, Jace sinks down to rest his head on her shoulder. Absentmindedly, Lydia starts to stroke her fingers through Jace’s silky hair as they watch Izzy pack and dance around the room. He’s hurting, although he won’t admit it. Jace is very tactile and the physical contact will comfort him at least a little bit.

A few minutes later the door swings open. Alec pokes his head in and sees them first. Lydia isn’t sure if the way his lips flatten into a hard line is because he’s still pissed at Jace or because she’s touching him.

Either way, there’s a stab of guilt in her stomach, like she’d done something wrong.

It niggles at Lydia under Alec’s stare, but she doesn’t dislodge Jace against her shoulder, doesn’t move away from him. Jace is her friend. She has nothing to feel guilty for.

At last, Alec turns his head to address Izzy. “The bridal place called. Your dresses are ready, Iz.”

Isabelle lets out a squeal of excitement. “Oh, perfect! Let me grab Clary and we’ll go pick them up.”

Alec nods. He doesn’t look in the bed’s direction again as he walks out.

Lydia widens her eyes pointedly when Izzy turns to her. “Can you pick up mine as well, Iz? I think I’ll stay here.”

Jace huffs, shoving himself up into a seated position against the headboard. “Subtle.”

Izzy’s dark eyes glint in amusement, but this time she keeps her commentary to herself. “Sure. We shouldn’t be gone long.”

She strolls out, shutting the two of them in the suddenly silent bedroom. They can hear the echo of Izzy and Clary preparing to leave, Alec’s low voice ushering them out the door, before the apartment is finally, and unusually, vacant.

Jace stretches out leisurely, tucking his hands behind his head. “Let’s get this over with. Your rallying _be a good friend, do the right thing_ speech. Give it your best shot, Branwell.”

Lydia turns her cheek against the pillow. She studies Jace quietly for a moment, the carefree smirk and nonchalant pose that practically hang off of him like a mismatched costume.

Jace Herondale is a good actor. She’s seen his work, his growth over the past two years. But playing a character and concealing his own heart are two separate challenges. Try as he might to act differently, Jace still wears his heart like a bleeding badge on his sleeve.

At least, to those that know him well enough to see it. Like she does.

“No,” Lydia murmurs. “I think you know already, without me having to say it. Are you okay?”

Jace’s eyes flick over to her, startled. It’s entirely possible in all of the chaos of the upcoming wedding and Alec’s temper and _everyone_ badgering him about attending, that no one has stopped to ask him that question.

His surprise lasts for a split second before it’s buried again under a blank expression. Jace forces another smirk. “Not even a little bit,” he says with false cheerfulness.

Jace stands up from Izzy’s bed and pulls on his boots. “But I’ll be returning to repressing my misery in booze and sex now, so don’t wait up!”

Lydia frowns as he throws her a jaunty wave before ducking out of the bedroom.

“Jace,” she yells after him, “it’s 10 in the morning!”

“Hunk-O-Mania opens at 9. _And_ they serve cocktails!”

The door bangs shut behind him. She _really_ hopes he’s kidding. 

—

Lydia’s blonde eyebrows fly upward when Isabelle saunters through the doors of Central Perk, shopping bags in hand. “Seriously, Iz? Didn’t you _just_ finish packing?”

Izzy exchanges a knowing look with Magnus, coming in behind her with his own Macy’s bags. “There was a sale,” she says, as if any further explanation is ridiculous.

Magnus smirks before he plops down beside Alec on the couch. He leans over to peck his fiancé and finally sets what looks like heavy bags on the floor as Izzy does the same with hers.

Simon is silently glad the storm has passed and they all somehow survived. Alec’s temper has cooled by then, smiling along while Magnus shows off his purchases. But Simon worries for when Jace actually arrives to join them. Their fights can get ugly, but it’s really the aftermath that makes the whole group suffer.

The pointed jabs and underhand comments can go on for _days._ It quickly escalates into a game of Who Can Be the Biggest Asshole. Simon _almost_ wants to shout the truth in Alec’s face to avoid the whole mess. Of course he wouldn’t live to enjoy it, because Jace would suffocate him with the scone he’s currently eating.

“Oh!” Isabelle suddenly exclaims from the armchair. “I got you this.”

She rummages through one of her bags before brandishing a long, floral dress that makes Clary’s green eyes glaze over. Simon laughs. “Watch the drool, Fairchild.”

Clary doesn’t seem to hear his teasing at all. She’s on another planet, wide eyes latched onto the dress like it’s the Holy Grail in Isabelle’s hands.

Isabelle beams proudly. “You said you needed something to wear for the rehearsal dinner and when I saw _this_ little number…” She trails off into a laugh when Clary starts making grabby hands at her.

Isabelle carefully folds the dress back into the bag and hands it over to Clary. Simon nearly sees the Light when Clary stampedes over him to reach Izzy, flattening himself against the couch to avoid a certain death. The heeled boots Clary is wearing have _spikes_ on them, courtesy of Jace for her last birthday.

Simon is grumbling under his breath about poor fashion choices and his sensitive skin and suing Jace for physical endangerment, but it goes ignored as Clary kisses Izzy’s cheek in gratitude.

“You,” Clary says with utter seriousness, “are the best roommate ever.”

Isabelle twirls a lock of Clary’s hair around her finger flirtatiously. “You can buy me a latte, if you’re feeling generous.” She winks.

Clary straightens up and salutes her. “Anything for you, babe.” 

Simon rolls his eyes. “Just date already.”

This time he isn’t ignored. Izzy’s ruby lips smirk at him as Clary heads over to the counter for coffee. “Aww, are you feeling neglected by your roommate, Si?”

Simon plays it up when they all look at him, adopting a forlorn expression. He sniffles. “Maybe. It couldn’t hurt him to call, you know. Say he’s going to be late.”

The girls coo at him in false sympathy until Magnus cuts in, his voice colored with amusement. “I found him. It seems our dear Jace is busy getting a tongue bath.”

They all turn in the direction Magnus is pointing out with a black manicured finger, toward the window displaying the street outside the coffee shop. Jace is standing on the sidewalk, enveloped by a muscular, brunette guy that is, quite unabashedly, groping Jace’s ass while they make-out.

Lydia fake-gags and quickly shields her eyes, not interested in watching who she considers a younger brother sucking face with some guy.

Simon lets out an affronted gasp. “Jonathan Christopher! Make-Out Mondays is supposed to be _our_ thing, bro!”

Out of the corner out of his eye, Simon can spot Alec rolling his eyes heavenward, his lips pulling into a scowl. He bites back a grin. Now isn’t the time to further antagonize Alec, even when it’s so much fun to rub his friendship with Jace in his face. Three years of them being roommates and Alec still gets hilariously jealous, like they’ve all _five_ and Jace isn’t allowed to have other friends.

Jace can’t hear Simon of course, but the two of them separate anyway. The mystery guy says something that makes Jace flash his wicked grin and then make a clear, obscene gesture.

Izzy snickers, while Alec mutters, “Classy.”

The brunette guy disappears down the sidewalk, out of view, and at last Jace enters Central Perk. He laughs in surprise and amusement when he finds all of them staring up at him.

“ _Pervs_ ,” he teases. “Enjoy the free show?”

Isabelle pretends to fan herself with a menu before peering up at Jace consideringly. “You know; you pull some major babes. First Clary, now that guy. What’s your secret?”

Jace quirks an eyebrow at her before gesturing at himself from head-to-toe. “ _This_.”

Simon laughs as Izzy proceeds to swat at Jace with the menu for his cockiness. Jace lets her get a few whacks in before ducking by and heading over to Simon and Clary in the loveseat.

Simon gets that niggle in the back of his mind so he’s aware they are all collectively pretending _not_ to notice Jace and Alec ignoring each other. Jace hasn’t looked at him once, but Alec is also to blame for the way he is aggressively punching the keys on his Blackberry and not glancing up.

Behind him, Magnus and Izzy are engaged in a conversation about some obnoxious co-worker at Ralph Lauren. So. This is one of those times where they are going to step around the elephant in the room and hope it sees itself out.

Or eventually Izzy will lock Jace and Alec in the closet like she did last year until they sorted their shit out. It’s nice that they have a back-up plan.

Jace pouts at him, pulling out his signature puppy-dog face that Simon has fallen for too many times. Both he and Clary use that face as weapons at their disposal. They know Simon is weak, the bastards.

“Where’s my drink?” Jace asks.

“No!” Simon points at him sternly. “No roommate privileges, Herondale. Get your own damn coffee.”

Jace’s eyes widen innocently, like he has no idea what he’s done. “Why?”

“Who,” Simon demands loudly, over Clary giggling and shushing him, “ate the _last Poptart_? Because it sure as fuck wasn’t _me_.”

Jace winces once his crime is revealed. “Right, that. Would you forgive me if I told you we were out of Captain Crunch?”

Simon thinks about it for a moment and then decides, “No.”

Jace rocks on his heels as he thinks to himself before offering a solution. “Apology blow job?”

This time it’s Simon that swings at him, although all he does is kick lightly at his roommate’s ankle to refute him. “Jace, you incorrigible tart! My forgiveness will _not_ be bought by sexual favors! What kind of a boy do you think I am?”

Jace laughs his way to the counter. The other customers are definitely staring now. They really should be used to Simon and his friends’ antics at this point. They practically live at Central Perk and at least one of them is always yelling about something. Be it bad roommate etiquette or you-won’t-believe-what-happened-to-me-on-the-subway or Alec and Lydia are discussing politics again.

(And Izzy had to lock them in the Play Nice Closet before too).

Once everyone is settled with their respective drinks and snacks around their claimed area, it’s fun, familiar, easy. There’s nothing like having their group all together to talk about random shit and tease each other and bicker, seven voices blending together in the din of their favorite coffee shop.

It’s moments like this that make Simon believe in fate, or something like it. At least in some Greater Force outside of their power that brought them all together, forming friendships that Simon believes will last their whole lifetimes. They feel woven together, seamlessly.

Everything is great, until one by one they start clearing out and it’s Simon and Isabelle alone. Which is great too, with Izzy making weird faces at him over the rim of her porcelain coffee cup.

Simon grins at her. Izzy is a secret dork and he’s honored to be privy to that information.

Then, Maia appears with a smile that’s almost plastic with forced politeness. “Can I get you guys anything else?”

And Simon wants to die inside. Is he imagining the undertone in her voice or is she implying for them to get the hell out of there?

The thing is, Simon could tell before they became Friends. Actually, in the before, Maia would cross her arms and tell them to beat it so she could clear the table.

That was the Maia that Simon was familiar with when they were only friends. The blunt, unapologetic Maia that he fell for when they were dating. But now they’re stuck in the unchartered territory of awkward post-breakup land, where Maia smiled weird because everything was _fine_ and they were still friends, of course.

Isabelle clears her throat. “No, we’re good. Thanks, Maia. How are classes going?”

Like magic, Maia’s smile morphs into something natural. Because Isabelle Lightwood has that effect on people.

“Awesome,” Maia gushes. “One semester left and they I can finally get out there, you know?”

Simon tries not to flinch. He fiddles with his empty coffee cup, so his hands have something to do. _Get out there._ That’s all Maia wanted, all she’s always wanted. Her dreams have been clear since Simon met her, so maybe he’s the idiot for getting invested in something Maia had one foot in, one foot elsewhere.

 _Get in, get her degree, get out_. Maia had a set list to reach her goals. Working as a waitress, taking classes at NYU, and even dating Simon, apparently, were all small parts of the journey to her dream: being a marine biologist on the West Coast.

She couldn’t have anything holding her here once it was time to leave for California. Or so she told Simon when she dumped him a month ago.

Simon pulls out his phone to stare blankly at Instagram. He won’t let himself stare at Maia, won’t laugh at her quick-fire sarcasm that used to suit his own effortlessly, won’t think about how pretty she looks. He can do this.

Simon’s never tried to be friends with his exes before, for good reason. But Maia works here and they’re bound to see her all the time with how often they’re in here, so Simon agreed, like a chump.

_Yeah, let’s be friends. No, that isn’t my heart crushed and bleeding under your shoe. We’re cool._

Finally, Maia walks away to a safe distance behind the counter. Simon flops himself face-first onto the couch and groans miserably into the scratchy, upholstery material.

Izzy chuckles to herself before her fingers start petting through his curls. “I see you’re using that argan oil I recommended. Nice and soft.”

Simon snorts against the couch. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Oh come on,” Isabelle says. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides, you’ll barely see her once her classes start again.”

Simon turns his cheek so he can look up at her and frown. “That’s it, Iz. I _wanted_ to keep seeing her. I didn’t realize our relationship had an expiration date.”

Izzy’s face softens with empathy. “I know, honey. You guys were great together.”

He nods. “Exactly! Now she’ll leave and I’m back to being Jace’s funny wingman while he dates his way through all five boroughs.”

Izzy’s nose wrinkles adorably at that. “Okay, first of all, being the wingman is a lot healthier than Jace’s chosen coping mechanisms. I think we can agree on that.”

He isn’t sure if she’s really asking, so Simon shrugs. From his vantage point, it’s looks a lot easier than feeling like _this_. His roommate hasn’t gone any further than a casual fling since dating Clary in high school and it’s served him well. No strings, no messy breakups, no heartache.

Well. Other than pining for Alec. But that’s another tragedy.

Simon snorts as an idea suddenly occurs to him. “Oh, man. It’s gonna be me and Jace left over. Still single when we’re 40 and out of options, so we marry each other!”

Izzy doesn’t roll her eyes and call him melodramatic, as he suspects Clary would have done. And maybe he is being a tad dramatic, but he really believed he and Maia had something _good_. Something that lasts. But if he isn’t enough to keep an amazing, smart, beautiful girl like that for more than a few months, what hope is there?

“Second of all,” Isabelle says softly, gliding over his outburst. She scoots closer, laying a warm hand on his arm. “Simon, you are sweet and funny and thoughtful. You’re a great boyfriend and a kickass lead singer, by the way. Someone is going to snatch you right up, I _know_ it.”

Simon smiles, feeling his cheeks warm. Hearing compliments like that from Isabelle is enough to brighten any guy’s week. “Thanks, Iz.”

Isabelle waves him off, like it’s nothing and not the best thing he’s heard all day. “Don’t worry about it. Maia’s not the one, maybe, but there’s a right person out there, at the right time and the right place, waiting for you. You’ll see.”

Then Isabelle flashes him a cheeky grin. “And if we’re both still single when we’re 40—I’ll marry you, Simon. Crisis averted.”

Simon sticks his hand out for her to shake. “Deal.” 

—

By some stroke of luck—no, not luck. A cruel twist of fate is more fitting for his life these days.

In a cruel twist of fate, Jace is stuck on the sidewalk with the lovebirds. He’s doing everything in his power to not look at them. Jace concentrates on the crosswalk, willing the light to shift so he can get off this fucking block.

He’s meeting with his agent uptown. If he can survive long enough to cross the street…or maybe, he should walk now. Get hit by a cab and be put out of his misery. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

In his periphery, Jace is painfully aware of Alec and Magnus standing five feet away. Turned into each other, wrapped up in their little love bubble. Alec murmurs something to his fiancé, his low voice lost under the swell of New York traffic and bustling pedestrians.

But Magnus’s laugh is loud and clear. It hits Jace’s gut with the sharp precision of a dozen arrows pummeling into their target. He grits his teeth against the onslaught.

_Don’t look. Don’t do it, you fucking masochist._

His eyes flick over against his command. His body is a traitor that doesn’t posses an ounce of self-preservation. And Jace sees exactly what he expects to see, on the lovely face that haunts his nightmares and his waking moments with what he can’t have.

Magnus has his back to him, but around his shoulder Jace can see Alec. An amused tilt to his full lips, a soft gleam in his hazel eyes as he looks down at Magnus. God, he is stunning. Their fingers are linked together between them. Jace can imagine the matching shine of their engagement rings, as bright as their happiness that everyone on the block can see.

The crowd around him surges forward when the WALK sign flashes, but Jace takes off in the other direction, down the sidewalk.

He’s not going to Estelle’s. There’s a familiar blaze crackling in the depths of his soul and he needs to let it out, before he burns the world down.

—

His grandmother isn’t home. A small blessing. Normally, Jace would love to see her. Imogen Herondale is a formidable pain in the ass on the NYPD’s force, but to Jace, she’s family. He is awarded sides of her that no else gets to see, as her only grandson.

Jace assumes she’s on the job as he uses his key to get into her townhouse. It’s the same home his father grew up in, but Jace pays no mind to the framed photographs or trinkets on the walls in memory of his lost parent. Not today.

Today, he would crack under the weight of that remembered grief. Jace passes through the halls quickly to the grand piano waiting for him. The instrument was purchased after Jace came to live with Imogen—a welcome gift to indulge in his passion. His grandmother requests him to play whenever he visits.

Although she isn’t there, Jace warms up the keys with her favorite, “Variations on the Canon”.

As he plays, something inside of Jace simmers down, settles. The melodies stroke the fire inside him and keep it contained. When he’s consumed by a song, there is no room in his head for pain or longing or sorrow. Only music.

Peace finds him here; in a place he can’t reach it anywhere else in his life. For a little while. His breaths come easy as Jace plays his way through “Moonlight Sonata” and a few of the other classical pieces that he has memorized.

Naturally, his peace doesn’t last. His best friend’s voice slinks in quietly under the keys. Demanding his attention. “ _Play_ my _favorite, Jace.”_

Alec’s voice is a memory at best, but Jace is still powerless to deny him. His fingers rearrange themselves on the keyboard until he is performing the beautiful, “Love Dream”. The song he catches Alec humming under his breath constantly and it never fails to make Jace smile.

He played it for Alec a long time ago. Not here, but on the Lightwoods’ piano in their summer beach house. The memory is worn around the edges from Jace pulling it up so often, but it’s still there. He remembers the roar of the ocean waves outside the house’s glass doors. It was soothing, after Jace’s nightmare, but not enough to lull him back to sleep.

He crept through the unfamiliar rooms, his heart pounding in his throat. Jace was thirteen and still afraid his new friend’s parents would soon realize their mistake, throw out the feral stray they picked up. He’d been on his best behavior that weekend and Isabelle had giggled at his clumsy, excessive manners.

The piano tucked into the corner was his sweet escape. It was dumb of him not to realize _anyone_ could wake up to the sounds of his playing in the middle of the night. But Jace didn’t think of that, with the ghosts still lingering behind his mind’s eye. He played, until he forgot about his dead parents and his restlessness and the world dropped away.

Alec discovered him, the light sleeper in the house. He crept in, silent as a phantom himself, and listened until Jace noticed him. His eyes were sleepy, half-lidded, as he asked Jace in a whisper if he knew, Liszt’s “Love Dream”. No other questions about why he was up.

Jace said he did and played it for him, until a soft smile grew on his serious friend’s face. He remembers the warm glow of pride in his chest. _He_ made Alec smile. Alec wasn’t afraid of him—the strange orphan prone to outbursts at school. He _trusted_ Jace, even then, inviting him to his family’s vacation.

When he was done, Alec offered for Jace to sleep with him, if he wanted and he went. And when Jace woke up shaking the next night from a nightmare, it was Alec’s hands in his hair and him humming “Love Dream” that lulled him back to sleep.

Jace plays until the light shifts behind the window’s curtains, afternoon turning to evening. His grandmother will be home soon and Jace has to return, begrudgingly, to reality. So he resets the top on the piano and locks the door to the townhouse behind him.

Jace takes the subway back to his building. It isn’t a long walk, but his emotions are drained after playing. It costs him something to indulge in the instrument. The price is worth the reprieve and peace it brings while he’s lost in the music, to him.

During the ride, Jace tips his head back against the window behind him and closes his eyes. He can’t help but dredge up a particular memory of another time Alec made him feel safe.

Back when Jace felt like Alec was still _his_ and his alone.

Jace was a sophomore in high school when he was once dispatched to the main office. For once, he wasn’t being sent to the vice principle for disrupting class or receiving a detention slip for skipping class. This time, his Geometry teacher had a note for the school secretary and Jace had volunteered to pass it along, all-too eager to escape congruence theorems and other useless bullshit.

Jace leaned against the front desk, waiting for the secretary Miss Honeycutt to get off the phone. Outside the window he had a view of the visitor parking lot and the beautiful day he was missing being stuck inside. Sighing, Jace’s eyes wandered and he did a double take when he spotted a familiar face.

“ _Alec_?”

His stomach flipped at the sight of him. Still firm in his denial, Jace told himself it was because of the state Alec was in and not because Jace was excited to see him.

His best friend was slumped in one of the plastic chairs in front of Vice Principle Ruiz’s office. The naughty chairs where troublemakers like Jace were sent to, not Alec. The sight was startling enough, but when Alec turned his head at his voice, Jace saw _blood_.

Red stained the collar of his shirt. There was blood on the paper towel wrapped around Alec’s knuckles and a bit of dried blood on his swollen bottom lip.

Jace forgot about the note and pretty much everything else at that moment. He darted over and knelt by Alec’s side. “Holy shit. What happened?”

Alec scowled and promptly winced, his uninjured hand coming up to touch his mouth. “Stark can’t keep his mouth shut, that’s what happened.”

Jace’s eyes bulged. “You got into a _fight_?”

Alec wasn’t a pacifist by any means, but his friend did his best to remain in control of his temper. He cared too much about his parents’ disapproval and setting a good example for his younger siblings to be getting into school yard fights.

Alec said nothing, his dark brows drawn over at his eyes and jaw tense as he glared at the closed door in front of them.

Jace studied him quietly for a moment. He had no idea what was going through Alec’s head. Then he stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Jace passed along the note to Miss Honeycutt and convinced her to hand over a first-aid kit they kept stocked in the office. Knowing Alec, his friend had skipped out on visiting the school nurse to bear his injuries in stoic silence. The lovable idiot.

He sunk into the chair beside Alec and popped open the kit on his lap. “Hey. Look at me, Mayweather.”

Alec scoffed but turned his head. Jace cleaned out the cut on his lip as gently as he could. Their breaths rattled between them, drowned out by Jace’s pulse thudding in his ears. This close, he could see the flecks of green in Alec’s eyes as he dabbed antibiotic ointment on his bottom lip.

It wasn’t romantic, not at all, but to Jace it was like the universe shrunk down to a box and it was just him and Alec inside it, looking at each other. He felt electric inside, all nerves and desire prickling his skin.

 _I want to kiss him,_ Jace thought and then his hand jolted so bad he dropped the tube of ointment.

After that, Jace kept his eyes on his task as he bandaged Alec’s hand with gauze in silence. Fighting the fever in his cheeks, his blood pounding. When he was done, he carefully glanced up at Alec and asked, his voice low, “What did Stark say to you?”

Alec held his stare, stern and unmovable. “It doesn’t matter. He’s never going to repeat it.”

Jace wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he got a tingle down his spine at the roughness of Alec’s voice then, the fierceness in his eyes. He looked ready to kill someone if they dared to open their mouth to him again.

It stirred something in Jace’s gut, besides attraction. A call to action. Stark had upset Alec with whatever ignorant thing he said and he felt compelled to fight back, to defend him. _You mess with him; you mess with me._

“Don’t,” Alec said firmly, like he could read Jace’s mind. “You’ll get suspended. Don’t be stupid, Jace. Leave it alone.”

The door opened then and Vice Principle Ruiz cleared her throat. “Mr. Lightwood, please come in.” Her sharp brown eyes landed on Jace. “Mr. Herondale, I sincerely hope you’re not here to see me _again_.”

Jace put on his most innocent smile. “No, ma’am. I’m here for moral support.”

Alec stood up with his bag to face his punishment. He looked back and spoke before their vice principle could, “Get back to class, Jace.”

It was with great reluctance, but Jace went back. He hoped to catch the story from the gossip mill, but his classmates spoke of the fight that had broken out and who kicked whose ass. No word on what actually incited the fight, although there were plenty of rumors.

Jace got the truth out of Simon, eventually. His friend sadly told him how Stark and his buddies found out about Jace making out with another male student under the bleachers. They called him a _fag_ and made all kind of lewd insinuations that Alec overheard. They shut up once Alec punched Stark and broke his nose in two places.

Well. The whole school would know Jace was bisexual soon enough. He wasn’t ashamed of it.

Jace confronted Alec, after the storm had passed and he served his three detention sessions. A blemish on his otherwise spotless record. How could Alec do that, when he had his eye on places like Harvard and Columbia for after graduation? People like Stark were going to talk shit. Jace had a tough skin, he could deal with it. It wasn’t worth risking his future or tarnishing the Lightwood family honor, as his parents warned him and Isabelle against.

“You think I care about that more than _you_?” Alec demanded, infuriated.

“Of course not,” Jace told him. It felt odd to be in the responsible seat for a change. “But there are more important things—”

“Not to me.” Alec raised his chin at him, almost defiant. He wasn’t the least bit remorseful about what he’d done. “ _No one_ is going to talk about you like that. Not in front of me.”

Jace couldn’t speak. His throat closed up, filled to the brim with a gratitude he couldn’t express. Who else _cared_ about him this much? It was more than he deserved, to have Alec Lightwood as a protector.

Alec’s hazel eyes softened. His stubbornness was stripped down, leaving only affection as he looked at Jace. “Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“Of course I would,” Jace whispered. That wasn’t even a question.

Alec nodded. He knew this. “Why?”

There was an endless combination of answers. But Jace went with the simplest one, the one that defined what he and Alec meant to each other. Jace’s lips quirked. “Because we’re ride or die.”

He never doubted he could depend on Alec, especially after that. His fiercely loyal, secretly badass, loving best friend. Jace still hasn’t met a better person than Alec. If he did, maybe he could get his heart back from him. But Jace doubts it.

—

Hours later, Jace lets himself in to the girls’ apartment. He’s got Chinese takeout on the brain but his mind comes to a screeching halt when he steps into the living room and finds Isabelle standing there in the nude.

Her dark hair is half pinned up, with loose tendrils framing her face. Against the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline spilling light around her in a soft glow, Isabelle resembles a work of art, like a painting of the beautiful Venus. Which is probably what Clary is going for.

She’s held completely still in a staged pose, but her eyes twinkle at Jace with amusement. “Hey neighbor.”

It _would_ be a shock, for someone else. But their friendship is kind of like that.

It’s worth mentioning that Jace has seen all of his friends naked at some point. Some moments were more cringeworthy than others. They have all gotten eyefuls of Jace’s naked ass as well, but that doesn’t bother him much. He likes to think of it as a cornerstone in building _trust_ between their close-knit group.

Jace nods, his brain slowly coming back online. “Looking good, Iz.”

Isabelle’s lips twitch into a brief smirk. “I always look good.”

Clary glances up from where she’s laying on her stomach, her legs kicked up in the air, and her large sketchbook open in front of her. She waves her free hand in their air to shut them up.

“No talking,” Clary orders. “And no moving,” she directs at Isabelle.

“Yikes.” Jace leans back against the kitchen island, watching Clary’s hand dart over the page with her pencil. “I forgot how bossy you get when you’re in _the zone_. So unpleasant.”

Clary doesn’t spare him another glance, too caught up in the scene she’s capturing. Her voice when she responds is half-present, at best. “ _You_ have been unpleasant for months, Herondale, so consider it payback.”

And like that, the teasing smile drops from his face. A little reminder is all it takes for the flimsy cardboard box holding back his emotions to be burst open. Jace manages to remain upright, somehow, when the pain that crushes his chest is enough to bring him to his knees.

His breathing grows jagged and Jace is almost convinced the air has been suddenly sucked out of the room. He’d prefer that bizarre explanation for why he’s suddenly suffocating.

Izzy’s eyes flick over to him, flooded with worry, and Jace tries to pull the splintered pieces of himself back together. He really does. He’s kept his composure all day, after that wretched fight with Alec. No need to fall apart _now_.

Clary stops, turning her head to follow Isabelle’s look. Her eyes widen. “Shit. Jace, I didn’t—”

He waves her off quickly. The pity on their faces is nearly as unbearable as the reminder of Alec’s impending nuptials.

“It’s fine,” he says, too firmly to be convincing. _Drop it, please._

Clary bites her lip, fully immersed in her guilt now. Her compassion is usually a lovely quality, but right now Jace resents how Clary is about to make his discomfort her mission to resolve.

He doesn’t want the girls’ soft looks or listening ears. Jace would much rather have Simon’s method of taking him out to the bar to get shitfaced and _not_ talk about their feelings. Being numb has been Jace’s ideal state of existence as of late.

If he’s _really_ being honest, the person Jace wants to talk to about any of this is Alec himself. Fuck, he misses him.

“Jace,” Isabelle murmurs, in that knowing way of hers. “Have you talked to Alec yet?”

He forces a bitter smile that makes his jaw ache, his teeth clenched together. “He’s been busy, what with wedding plans and all. Don’t want to bother him.”

“ _Jace_ ,” Isabelle calls after him, so sharply he has no choice but to turn back around. She’s got her red robe tied around her now. “Stay. We’ll order takeout and argue about what movie to watch.”

The offer is nice, but not at all tempting. Jace can feel his dark mood thundering over his head in a storm cloud, bitterness like poison on his tongue. He’s not going to be good company right now and he doesn’t want to ruin the girls’ night.

“Raincheck.” Jace offers what he hopes it a more believable smile. “I’ll see you ladies later.”

When Jace makes it out into the hallway, his feet take him to the right, bypassing his own door. He’ll have to text Simon that he’s on his own for dinner. Jace can’t be around his friends. He doesn’t want to even be around himself.

He hits the stairs, focusing on climbing downward to distract from the tightness in his chest. There’s no air in the girls’ apartment or in the stairwell or anywhere else Jace escapes to. His lungs have shrunk down to a pinpoint. _Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe._

It’s useless to run away again. There’s no where he can go and leave the truth behind him. It sits behind his sternum, pressing in uncomfortably close.

Jace can drink though. He can find temporary reprieves. Sometimes when he’s drunk enough or pressed against a warm body, reality distorts itself and he can at least pretend to be okay. Pretend to be someone else, that isn’t a coward or living in his own nightmare.

Jace is so caught up, he doesn’t even realize someone is behind him until he reaches the landing on the first floor. A soft touch lands on his shoulder and he whips around.

“Clary?” Jace furrows his brows at her. “What are you doing?”

She shrugs, straightening out the jean jacket she must have thrown on her way out the door. “I didn’t think you should be alone right now.”

Jace scoffs, the harsh words tumbling out before can he think twice. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No,” Clary agrees easily. “But maybe you need a friend.”

Jace hovers in front of their building’s door, rummaging in his head for a good excuse. He decides to go for honesty, because that always works well with Clary.

“I’m probably gonna get wasted,” Jace says. “How about we bond over brunch tomorrow? Make it at noon so I can sleep off my hangover.”

Clary steps closer, narrowing her gaze at him. He recognizes the stubborn set to her jaw, reminiscent of Jocelyn. It’s the same look Clary wore when she told them they were going as Jack and Sally for Halloween junior year, no arguments.

“You’ve not gonna blow me off. I _know_ you, Jace. Come on.”

Jace sighs to himself as Clary snatches his arm, tugging him behind her out the door. It’s as they’re walking down the sidewalk that Clary reminds him, “And I’ve seen you sloppy before, remember? I still have the vomit stains in Sassy’s backseat.”

Jace’s lips quirk at the memory. Sassy is the name of Clary’s green VW Beetle. Unfortunately, it so happened that one New Year’s celebration Jace and Simon had gotten drunk enough to start blowing chunks. Some of which ended up on the backseat of poor Sassy.

It wasn’t funny at the time, especially not for Clary. But looking back, it’s hilarious to remember the way Lydia literally hosed him and Simon down with water before they were _allowed_ to step foot in her place and crash.

“Vomit and nudity,” Jace notes to himself. “Those are the cornerstones of true friendship.”

Clary wrinkles her in nose at him in an appalled expression and Jace can’t help but laugh.

They head to a familiar bar about a block away. Jace orders his gin and tonic, while Clary gets a Strawberry Daiquiri. Naturally, Jace had to mock her girly drink choice and once their bickering starts, Jace lets himself be grateful he’s not drinking alone.

A couple of drinks later, he’s not so grateful.

Clary has gotten to that phase where she can’t speak without giggling. Everything is _so_ funny, including how Jace has to keep her from falling on her ass out of her chair. Jace has a slight buzz going and it’s not enough to put up with a tipsy Clary.

“Noo!” Clary cries, trying and failing to get Jace’s phone out of his hand. “I’m good, I’m—” She pauses to hiccup and burst into a fresh round of giggles.

Jace’s eyes roll. Immediately, he thinks of Alec. His friend had a zero tolerance patience for drunk bullshit, particularly with Clary. He once had to throw her over his shoulder and—no. No, he is _not_ going down the Alec rabbit hole right now.

Jace ignores Clary as he dials Izzy’s number. This is about to become her roommate’s problem. Jace isn’t entirely unsympathetic, but he _told_ Clary to pace herself, like he always does. She’s a fucking lightweight.

The line clicks with the connecting call when his cell phone gets snatched out of his grip. Jace gapes as Clary lunges for it with impressive speed. She hangs up the call and tucks his phone into her jacket’s pocket.

Jace sighs. “Clary—”

“No.” Clary slaps her palm against the bar’s countertop. Her cheeks are flushed and even in his annoyance Jace can admit she looks adorable. “You’re not sending me to _bed_. I’m here for you, Jace. I promise.”

He doesn’t really have a choice, now that she’s taken his phone. So Jace signals the bar tender and orders her a Long Island Ice Tea. They can always pass out in the booth behind them, if need be. But Jace is _not_ carrying her drunk ass out of here once he reaches his oblivion.

Some time later, they’re both definitely wasted. Clary has informed him she’s drunk about four times and then shushes him, so he won’t tell Isabelle and get her into trouble. He’s got enough alcohol sloshing through his veins that it gets funnier every time she does it.

“I fucked up, Clary,” Jace rambles to her, slumped against his fist. His friend watches him through sad, glazed eyes. “I fucked up my shot and now…now, it’s all over.”

Clary squints at him, taking long minutes to put together what she wants so say. Or maybe she has to sneeze.

Jace throws back another shot before she speaks, voice slurred. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He splutters a wet, joyless laugh. “What’s the point? Even if I told him, Alec doesn’t want _me_. I’m a fucking mess, damaged goods. Not _husband_ material. He can do better.”

 _And he has_ , Jace thinks mournfully. Alec found himself the perfect guy. Magnus has the successful job at Ralph Lauren, the chic apartment on Park Avenue. He has fabulous loft parties with his connections and everyone at Alec’s firm thinks he’s such a gem.

The worst part is, Jace can’t even argue that. He likes Magnus, separate from the fact he’s marrying the love of Jace’s life. He’s quick-witted and kind and loyal in a way that is admirable. He’s been nothing but a wonderful friend to all of them. He is exactly the kind of man that Alec deserves. And he makes Alec _happy_.

So, there is nothing he can say. He doesn’t want to. It’s what has kept this mouth shut for this long, because he would hate himself for ever threatening Alec’s happiness. He deserves the blissful engagement and the white wedding in Idris and a perfect honeymoon.

And none of that includes his best friend confessing his unrequited feelings and throwing Alec into a tailspin of guilt.

“Hey.” Clary nudges him with her foot. “You’re a gem too, Jace.”

He blinks at her. He didn’t realize he said any of that shit out loud.

“I’m not,” Jace mutters. “But thanks for saying it, anyway.”

Jace has no delusions about who he is. He’s got some good qualities, sure. But there’s no getting around the fact he also plays into the sleazy actor/model stereotype. He’s spent most of his twenties partying and living life by his impulses.

What does he have to offer someone like Alec? His friendship, absolutely. But he isn’t the guy that you proudly take home to Robert and Maryse Lightwood. He’s the guy you can call for a crazy adventure around the city or a booty call at 3am. Not who you want to call your husband or build your future around, with the vacation house in the Hamptons and the 2.5 kids.

Clary shakes her head, stubborn to the end. “You _are_. You’re amazing, Jace. I would know, I loved you once.”

Her lips curve upward, like it’s funny to mention their past. He doesn’t bother asking her _why_. What about him is loveable?

Jace doesn’t ask or stop to think at all. Nostalgia tingles in his gut and he follows where the impulse leads him.

Jace kisses her, one hand cupping her tiny cheek. He can taste her watermelon chapstick. His heart doesn’t stutter. Their old spark has died out, but it’s familiar and comfortable, like slipping into an old, worn T-shirt of your favorite band.

Clary tilts back an inch, her breath hitting his lips. “Bad idea,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Jace agrees. But when has that ever stopped either of them? “So?”

She smirks. Jace catches a glimpse of that fire in her green eyes that first drew him in. A kindred spirit, it promised. _Here’s a beautiful girl that I can get into trouble with_.

Clary’s cool hands with her ring-clad flingers slink up from his chest, around his neck so she can yank him back in. This time, the kiss transports him back to high school, their prom, and that night at the pool house on Labor Day two years ago. It’s hot and hungry, a little bit sloppy, but also an enticement of what comes next. The emotion may not be there, but he and Clary know how to have passionate sex.

It could be a minute or maybe half an hour later when they fall away from each other. Clary slips off the bar stool and holds out her hand to him, eyes clouded with lust and temptation.  

Jace grins. This might be the best bad idea he’s had in a while.

—

Voices trickle in from behind her bedroom door and it’s the sound of Isabelle’s loud _ha_ of laughter that wakes her up. Clary blinks slowly, listening to the clatter of plates from the kitchen and the sounds of Izzy’s iPod playing on the dock. It’s morning.

She sits up gingerly, scowling at the headache that immediately swoops down to attack her skull. God, she and Jace did some hardcore drinking last night. Thank God she doesn’t have work today because of—

Clary’s eyes widen. Oh no. Memories pop up in a blur of colors and sounds and she wasn’t drunk enough to forget she didn’t go to bed alone.

As expected, when Clary glances beside her, she finds Jace curled up on her other pillow. And _drooling_. The sight is less than attractive, but she does let herself admire his tattooed biceps and muscular chest on full display. For a moment.

Then Clary grabs her ladybug pillow and whacks Jace’s blonde head with it. “ _Jace_ ,” she hisses. “Wake up!”

They did a very _stupid_ thing last night.

Alcohol involved or not, Clary should have known better. You don’t hook-up with your ex-boyfriend that you’re still close friends with. And you _definitely_ don’t hook up with a guy in love with someone else. Damn it, what was she thinking?

To compensate for how pissed she is at herself, Clary smacks Jace with the pillow again. This is totally his fault too and he’s going to pay for it.

At last, Jace seems to wake up with a long groan. “Why do I have such violent friends?” He whines. “Stop hitting me!”

Clary lets the pillow go as Jace pushes himself into a sitting position. Her eyes drop to the tattoo etched on his hip bone and she has to swallow back guilt that rises like bile in her throat.

God damn it. She feels like the _other woman_.

Jace clutches his head, suffering from his own hangover. “Tell me you have Advil in here, Fairchild. I think people are in the—”

He’s cut off by her bedroom door swinging open. For a second, Clary thinks it’s Izzy, barging in like she always does. Privacy is nonexistent between them. But apparently her habit of not knocking runs in the Lightwood blood.

Alec takes two long strides inside before he freezes. His wide, hazel eyes flick from her, also frozen and topless, to Jace with his tousled hair and back again.

What follows is one of the most awkward silences of her _life_.

She wants to ask him what he came in here for. Anything to move the conversation elsewhere. But it’s like she’s forgotten how to form words. A nervous laugh bubbles on her tongue, but she manages to keep it wedged in.

Alec’s face unlocks, his brows settling over his eyes into a disbelieving glare. “I’m sorry,” he snaps. “Apparently I’ve opened the door to the _past_.”

He spins on his heel and stalks out of the room, throwing the door shut behind him with a slam.

“Alec!” Clary shouts, but he’s already gone.

Still, the way he was glaring at _her_ leaves an uncomfortable itch under her skin. She scrambles off the bed and grabs her robe off the hook on the back of the door.

“What the fuck was _his_ problem?” Jace asks, sounding baffled.

Clary ignores him, exiting her room quickly. She couldn’t put it into words herself, let alone explain it to him. But she does feel like she owes an explanation or an excuse to Alec, as absurd as that might be.

She hears Isabelle’s half-joking, half-curious voice addressing her brother. “ _You didn’t kill her, did you? You’re looking quite murderous, bro_.”

Clary emerges into the living room, Jace on her heels. The room pauses as Isabelle looks over, standing in the kitchen with her bowl of oatmeal. Simon is sitting behind her at the table, eyes bugging as he takes in Jace coming from her bedroom, in his boxers. Alec’s off to the side, arms crossed and scowling at all of them.

Perfect. Almost everyone is here for this.

The silence is broken by Simon. He swallows whatever he’s chewing and asks slowly, “So, what’s going on?”

Alec laughs humorlessly, flinging an arm in their direction. “Isn’t it obvious? The Prom King and Queen have _reunited_.”

Clary’s cheeks flush. It’s worse, so much worse, when Izzy glances at her in surprise.

“Are you guys back together?” Izzy asks.

“No!” Both her and Jace say, before looking at each other. Alec scoffs from his spot.

Clary addresses the room, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes directly. “It was nothing. We were drunk.”

She can almost feel Isabelle’s disappointment and Alec’s judgment spiraling toward her in waves. Helplessly, her eyes turn up to Jace and silently beg him to back her up.

Jace shrugs, an insolent smirk settling on his face. “It was just sex. _Good_ sex, but still. Why are we having an Inquisition about it?”

“Old habits,” Clary adds with an awkward laugh.

“Is this gonna become an annual thing?” Simon asks, raising his eyebrows. She thinks he’s trying to relieve the tension. “Like once a year, you guys have your little mating ritual.”

“It’s your turn next, Si.” Jace winks. “I’m starting a tradition with all of my friends.”

Clary almost smiles. Her face is still burning and all she wants now is to escape to the shower, away from their stares.

Then Alec says, his eyes boring through Jace, “You’ve run out of strangers in Manhattan to sleep with, you mean.”

Clary’s jaw drops, seeing the same shock fill Izzy’s face when her head snaps toward her brother. Isabelle looks a step away from chastising him and it would be funny, how much she resembles Mrs. Lightwood then, if any of this was humorous.

She looks from Alec to Jace and all of a sudden, it’s like they’re the audience watching a conversation that has nothing to do with them. The way Jace and Alec’s eyes are locked shuts everyone else out. They’re doing that Thing they do, where words and emotions are passing between a link accessible only to them.

Jace’s mismatched eyes shine with hurt before his face hardens, turns to stone. “My sex life is none of your business, Alec.”

“It is if you’re going sleep your way through Idris next—oh wait.” Alec’s lips twist into a mocking smirk. “You’re not going to _be_ there.”

Jace turns his face away, jaw clenching and unclenching with tension.

Clary gets the impression that the rest of them should slink quietly away, if they could. This discussion no longer includes her, which she is kind of thankful for. She doesn’t want to be on their receiving end of Alec’s stormy glare again any time soon.

The friction between the two boys makes the air in the room taut, like it could snap or crackle with electricity any second. This might be worse than when they could hear them screaming from the balcony. The storm was in the distance, churning heavy and dark, and they were all waiting with baited breath for the lightning to strike.

Everything they’re not saying puts the whole apartment on edge. Across from her, Izzy is tapping her spoon against the bowl with nervous energy, although the boys don’t notice. Simon mouths " _awkward"_ at her, but Clary can't smile. 

“That’s it?” Alec hisses. “You’re not going to _say_ anything?”

Clary remembers she asked him the same thing last night, at the bar. Trying to understand why Jace never told Alec how he really feels, even before he started dating Magnus. And what did Jace say?

 _“I’m a fucking mess, damaged goods. Not_ husband _material. He can do better”._

She understands Alec’s frustration. His best friend refuses to go to his wedding and won’t tell him why. But Alec can’t see what the rest of them see—or how Jace sees _himself_.

At Jace’s ongoing silence, Alec utters a low noise of disgust. Then he’s storming out the door again, the slam echoing off the walls. Jace flinches, like he’s been kicked in the gut, looking as broken as he did after their last fight.

Clary meets Izzy’s eyes in the kitchen. They reflect her helplessness. They all wish they could do something to fix this.

Jace seems to shake off the damage that’s been wreaked. Or buries it away. His expression is blank as he returns to Clary’s room for his clothes and quietly lets himself out of their apartment. Simon stick his empty plate in the sink and trails after his roommate back to their place.

Once they’re alone, Izzy lets out a heavy exhale. “Jesus. That was intense.”

Clary groans, dropping her face into her hands. “I know. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, Iz.”

“What?”

She senses Isabelle approaching before she gently pries Clary’s hands away from her face. Her chocolate eyes look wider, free of make-up, as she regards Clary with a fond exasperation. “This isn’t your fault, silly.” Izzy gives her shoulders a shake until a laugh falls out of her. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I should have told Jace no,” Clary admits quietly.

Isabelle’s smooth hands slide down her shoulders until they clasp Clary’s own. “Why didn’t you?”

Her voice is free of judgment. Clary feared she would be disappointed in her. Izzy has such a level head on her shoulders, it makes Clary feel foolish for her own impulsivity. But she should have known better. _Izzy_ never makes her feel guilty or ashamed of her choices. She always tries to meet Clary in the middle, to understand.

Clary thinks for a minute, although it’s hard to concentrate with Izzy playing with her fingers. “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Hormones? Jace is good in bed and it was…easy.”

Izzy hums. “So you don’t still have feelings for him?”

“What?” Clary’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Oh my god, _no_. It didn’t like, _mean_ anything, Iz. I think it was something we both needed. In the moment.”

It felt good, to still be _wanted_ by him like that. And maybe nostalgia had something to do with it, because she hasn’t had a serious relationship like theirs since high school. She wants that again, but not with Jace.

Isabelle listens to her and then nods. “Good. Normally, I’d be all for it, but…well, Jace isn’t in a good place now. Getting back together would be a disaster.”

Clary smiles wryly. “And he’s head over heels for _your_ brother.”

Izzy snorts at that. She guides Clary over to the couch where she deposits her and Clary gets comfortable, snuggling under the fleece blanket. Izzy disappears to the kitchen for a few minutes and then returns with two mugs of hot coffee.

Clary takes hers with a warm smile. “Thanks. You know, you deserve someone to take care of you like this, Iz.”

Isabelle bops her nose with her free hand. “That’s what I have _you_ for, doll.”

They settle onto the couch with their mugs. Clary lets her head drop onto Izzy’s shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of her lavender shampoo. Izzy puts on an America’s Next Top Model marathon on the TV and despite all the turmoil around them, Clary is at peace.

—

It dawns on Simon as he’s finishing his packing before they leave tomorrow that he doesn’t _technically_ have a tux.

He could have sworn he did, but the exclusive item in his closet that qualifies as “fancy” is a silk shirt. It’s from Ralph Lauren, still with the tags on. A nice gesture on Magnus’s part, but Simon has absolutely no use for such a shirt.

He rings up his mother, in search of the suit he wore to senior prom. It probably doesn’t fit anyway, seeing as he’s grown a few inches since then, but Simon still has a pang of disappointment when he mom says she gave it away.

Simon shrugs it off and after hanging up with her, gives his predicament some thought. Jace might have a suit, but Simon doesn’t want to rub salt in that wound right now. He feels bad enough about leaving his roommate behind when he’s as torn up as he is.

His next best option is Groom Number Two himself, Magnus Bane.

Simon shoots him a quick text to see if he’s home and then he’s hailing down a cab for himself. The weather is flat and gray outside, threatening rain at some point during the day. Simon pulls up his hoodie as he exits the cab and jogs up to the high-rise building.

He rocks on his heels as he waits for Magnus to buzz him in. Simon can sense the clock ticking down in the back of his head. If this fails, he needs to find a rental place before his gig tonight. The grooms might not mind so much, but Isabelle _will_ kill him if he shows up at the wedding and all the photos in his KISS ME, I’M A JEDI t-shirt.

Magnus is leaning in the open doorway when Simon makes it out of the elevator. He’s smiling at Simon, but there’s a tense edge to it. For a second, Simon wonders what Magnus thinks he’s here for.

If he’s heard about the… _scene_ that morning.

“Is Alec here?” Simon demands.

The question fires from his mouth on its own agenda. Simon doesn’t realize how pissed he actually is at the other groom until that moment. After everything that happened, he was too preoccupied with Jace, making sure he was okay. It freaked him out when Jace shut down like he did and Simon couldn’t get through to him. But Alec had no right to provoke an argument in the first place. What he said to Jace was out of line.

“Alexander’s…out.” There’s a pause before Magnus’s expression brightens. “Do come in, Simon.”

It’s a relief to hear Alec isn’t home and Simon can’t go off on him. This way he can avoid getting punched.

 Guilt taps on Simon’s shoulder for being such an asshole to Magnus, though. He hasn’t even stepped foot inside of Magnus’s home before he started demanding information. "Sorry,” Simon sighs, following Magnus inside. “This morning’s kinda been hell.”

Magnus hums as he leads them to the living room. There’s incense burning, sandalwood tinging the air, and the television is on, playing some cooking show on mute.  Simon spots multiple packed suitcases standing in the hallway.

When Magnus gestures for him to sit, Simon drops down into one of the velvet swivel chairs.

“This can be a stressful time,” Magnus notes, reclining on the sofa.

Simon isn’t sure if he’s saying that for all of their sakes or to justify Alec’s temper. Magnus doesn’t look too stressed himself, but then again, Simon has never seen him less than composed. He holds his liquor better than the rest of them, that’s for sure.

He finds Magnus’s prescence soothing, something wise and gentle in his brown eyes. Maybe it’s his patient stare, combined with the burning incense, that gives Simon pause again before he asks for a favor.

“It must be exhausting,” Simon says, “watching Alec and Jace act like toddlers. If Clary and I fought like that, Izzy would be pulling her hair out. It isn’t the same, obviously, but they can be a handful, you know? It’s probably harder as Alec’s fiancé, on top of planning your wedding.”

Magnus regards him curiously after his little ramble, one slender eyebrow raised. “Have they always fought like this?”

“Hmm…” Simon thinks back on their years of friendship and shrugs noncommittally. “Sort of? I mean, they’ve always bickered. They’re like an old marri—” Simon snaps his mouth shut and scrambles for something else to say. “Uh, it’s never been this bad though.”

Magnus says nothing, pressing his lips together. He sips his tea from a cat mug and Simon bemoans his running mouth. In the silence, it starts to feel like he’s put his foot in it again.

Finally, Magnus cracks the quiet and puts an end to Simon’s fidgeting. “What brings you here, Simon? I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit.”

“Um, no.” Simon cringes. “So, I don’t actually own a tux to wear this week.”

Magnus breaks into an amused smile. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, so I was wondering if I could borrow one, maybe?” Simon asks. “Yours have to be nicer than a cheap suit from the rental place.”

“Undoubtedly,” Magnus retorts with such emphasis it makes Simon snicker.

Then Magnus stands up, setting his mug down. Simon’s a bit apprehensive about the sudden glint in his eyes. “I have a _wonderful_ idea.”

He unearths his cell phone from his pant’s pocket and explains to Simon as he dials someone, “I have a dear friend that can lend you a suit. If you can believe it, his collection supersedes my own.”

Simon drums his fingers on his knee as the line rings. Then Magnus cries, “Raphael! Sweet boy. Sorry to trouble you, but I have a friend in need.”

Magnus winks at him and now Simon is definitely concerned about what’s happening. What the hell? Does Magnus think tux is code for _something else_?

Simon remembers Raphael Santiago. The mention of his name makes sweat bead on the back of his neck. Magnus’s old, really hot friend that Simon is going to have to see when he didn’t even bother to brush his hair before heading over here. Oh god, what is Magnus _doing_?

Magnus tells Raphael about his predicament, thankfully keeping the conversation on clothing measurements and style. Simon tries not to be offended on how the groom clucks to Raphael that Armani won’t be fully _appreciated_ by him. Well, to be fair, Simon is currently wearing a worn hoodie with a ketchup stain on the sleeve.

At last, Magnus hangs up. “Good news,” he chirps to Simon. “Raphael is home. He lives on the floor below me, 9A. Now go on, he’s expecting you.”

Magnus is glowing like this is the best idea he’s ever had and Simon doesn’t want to burst his bubble, so he goes.

His heart flutters nervously behind his ribs when Simon reaches 9A and knocks. The last time he saw Raphael was at the engagement party four months ago and—damn it. He looks even better now than he did then.

Maybe it’s Simon’s faulty, champagne-soaked memories that don’t capture Raphael at maximum hotness. But now as he stands in the doorway, brows furrowed at Simon in a vexed glare and one hand gripping a cell phone to his ear, he is unfairly attractive.

“Uh, hey.” Simon waves awkwardly when they stand there looking at each other. “I’m Simon. Magnus sent me down here, so.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “I _know_ who you are, Simon. Get in here.”

He gapes, more than a little surprised at Raphael’s abruptness. Okay, so it wasn’t the champagne. He remembers Raphael acting antsy and generally dick-ish at the party too. Maybe that’s his default setting.

From inside the apartment, he hears Raphael snapping his fingers. “Today, Lewis!”

Right. Simon scurries inside and shuts the door behind him. He follows the echoes of Raphael mumbling under his breath in Spanish to a bedroom. Gingerly, Simon crosses the threshold and finds Raphael frowning at his cell phone.

Simon clears his throat. “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes,” Raphael says flatly.

He types something at lighting-speed before pocketing his phone and focusing his intense glare on Simon once more. His deep brown eyes sweep over him from head-to-toe and Simon flushes with heat, even though it’s an evaluation and not a checking-him-out kind of look.

“Take off your jacket,” he orders before turning and disappearing into the walk-in closet.

Simon does as he’s told, unzipping his hoodie. Then he hastily finger-combs his hair to look acceptable before Raphael comes back. He’s carrying a navy satin suit jacket that he proceeds to _put_ on for him before Simon can find his voice.

Raphael invades his senses with the scent of spicy cologne. Simon’s breath is stuck in his lungs until Raphael steps back, straightening the jacket’s lapels with the expert flick of his wrist. He surveys Simon wordlessly and nods in approval.

Then Raphael points to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. “See for yourself.”

Simon looks, his eyebrows climbing high at his reflection. It looks _good_. The jacket is made of slick material that shines and fits his torso perfectly. He has to give props to Raphael’s eye for finding something so fitting on the first try.

Simon glances back at him. “Did you ever consider working on Queer Eye?”

With his arms crossed, Raphael arches a brow at him coolly. “Are you _assuming_ I’m gay?”

 _Fuck._ Inside his skull, Simon hears his Gaydar shrieking in panic. “Uh, no—no, I would never—”

Slowly, Raphael smirks. “Relax, Simon. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Simon swallows noisily. Is this guy even aware how nervous he makes him?

“Do you need a tie?”

At Simon’s nod, Raphael returns to the closet that looks about as big as his and Jace’s bedrooms combined. He has several ties hanging on his arm when he approaches Simon. Different patterns and shades of black and blue.

Simon eyes them and selects the black with a gray floral pattern. Raphael lays the rest of the ties on the foot of his massive queen-sized bed before helping Simon loop his choice over his neck. He leans back to let Simon tie it and immediately Simon misses the heat of his body as he fumbles with trembling fingers.

“Thanks for this,” Simon says quietly. “I mean, I know it’s for Magnus and all, but you’re still saving my life here.”

Raphael nods at him through the mirror’s reflection. “Return everything _exactly_ as you’ve borrowed it.”

“Got it.” Simon bobs his head.

He thinks he’d rather _die_ than show up here with a ruined suit. Raphael seems like the type of guy that knows how to kill someone and hid the body so the cops can’t find it. Which shouldn’t be hot, _at all_ , but…Simon has fucked-up tastes.

Raphael gets him a garment bag to store his jacket and tie in. Simon thanks him again as they approach the front door and he is weirdly reluctant to just _leave_.

“So, I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner then,” Simon notes brightly.

Raphael smirks. “It appears so.”

Before Simon can say anything else or quench his curiosity for why Raphael has so many freaking suits, Raphael’s phone rings. Simon’s goodbye dies on his lips when Raphael shuts the door in his face.

Yeah. He’s still a dick.

But, Simon has the next few days to get to know him better, in Idris.

—

Magnus lets out a low chuckle.

Alec turns his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “What?” He asks curiously.

His fiancé props his head on his arm, mouth curved with amusement. The city lights streaming in from the bedroom’s bow windows illuminates him, the sweat glistening on his bare skin.

“If this is how good engaged sex is,” Magnus muses, “imagine what married sex will be like.”

Alec’s smile wanes, his eyes straying to the windows’ view. He wishes he could find the amusement in all this. Or at least share in his fiancé’s seemingly unshakeable composure. No matter what complications have arisen in the past months of booking vendors or arranging the seating chart, Magnus has been calm, assured everything will work out.

Alec, on the other hand, can’t shut his brain off. He underestimated how stressful this ordeal would be.

He can feel the tension engulfing him again, disrupting his afterglow. Last minute details for the wedding flit through his mind. There’s so much left to prepare and double-check before the day arrives. Still, his thoughts inevitably circle back to the same problem, the last unchecked box.

 _Jace_.

It needles at Alec constantly, like a mosquito buzzing in his ear. The unanswered question. What would cause Jace to refuse to come to his wedding? To reject being his best man? _Something_ is wrong with him. Jace hasn’t been himself and it’s driving Alec insane that he can’t figure it out.

He knows Jace better than anyone. In fact, Alec considers himself an expert in reading Jace Herondale’s subtext. His best friend is on a bender, acting out and turning into a barfly when Jace doesn’t even _like_ alcohol. It’s a cry for help if Alec has ever seen one, but he can’t do anything if Jace won’t fucking _talk_ to him. 

Alec remembers their fight at Izzy’s and grits his teeth. Fuck, Jace had looked so upset when he left. Guilt simmers in his gut uselessly, because _that_ had somehow become their norm. When did they forget how to speak to each other? Alec hates it, but he doesn’t know how to repair it, either. He and Jace have been out of balance for months.

Something splintered between them, when Alec wasn’t looking. Something that can’t be slotted back into place.

Magnus’s voice is wry when he notes, “I’m assuming you and Jace haven’t made up.”

Alec startles out of his thoughts. He looks at Magnus in surprise. It’s not like he’s known for wearing his worries on his face, so how could Magnus guess?

Magnus gestures to Alec’s waist. Puzzled, Alec follows his gaze to where he finds his own fingers rubbing absently at the tattoo across his hip bone.

“You do that when you’re thinking about him,” Magnus explains.

Does he? An inexplicable heat fills Alec’s cheeks. Guilt, shame, maybe both. He has to do it a lot for his fiancé to take _notice_ of his habit.

He and Jace got the tattoos together, at sixteen and seventeen respectively. _Serva me, servabo te_ scrawled in black script. Save me and I will save you.

They first learned the motto in their Latin class and it was one of the phrases they quoted often to each other—sometimes as a joke, to keep the other out of trouble, but mostly as a promise. It got on their friends’ nerves, when he and Jace would speak Latin to each other like their own language, but that didn’t stop them. The tattoo is physical proof that they would always be there for each other. Their touchstone.

“No,” Alec answers him lowly. He balls his hand into a fist. “We haven’t.”

It’s quiet for a minute between them before Magnus clears his throat. He traces patterns on the duvet with his finger. “Isabelle seems to think you were unfair. Perhaps you should apologize, put it behind you.”

Alec tightens his jaw. Apologizing is the last thing he wants to do. Beyond pride, he is entirely justified in calling out Jace’s behavior. Clearly no one else is going to do it. Sleeping with Clary is another stop on Jace’s recent path to self-destruction.

Magnus sighs, reaching out delicately to cup his jaw. His fiancé treads lightly, well aware of Alec’s short fuse, particularly on this topic. “Alexander…”

He waits for Alec to meet his gaze. “Let’s put it this way: you don’t want your bad blood hanging over your head while we’re in Idris. Or our honeymoon, for that matter.”

Alec unclenches his jaw, sighing as well. He’s right. Of course he wants to make-up with Jace. Fighting with him left Alec with the sensation that the ground had shifted under his feet. The world was off its axis and he couldn’t move forward, find his balance. Most importantly, Jace _needs_ him right now.

With his mind made up at last, Alec stands up and reaches for his underwear on the floor. “I’m going to see him,” he announces.

Magnus’s eyes widen. “Now?”

He watches Alec re-dress in bewilderment. The Roman clock on the wall reads 2:15am. There’s an overflow of energy buzzing in his veins like caffeine and he won’t be able to sleep yet. He might as well settle this fight with Jace. Their flight is in the morning and he wants to do this in private, without their nosy friends listening in.

“Don’t wait up,” Alec says, leaning down to kiss him. “Get some sleep.”

The night is cool when Alec emerges onto the street. It had rained on and off all day, the air fresh and earth-scented in his lungs. Alec enjoys the smell as he walks the several blocks to his friends’ building, avoiding the leftover puddles in his path.

Alec knocks on the door when he reaches Jace and Simon’s apartment. It doesn’t feel right bargaining in at 2am, like a thief in the night. When no one answers, he texts Jace that he’s outside. His calls go straight to voicemail. At some point, Alec loses his patience and his sense of propriety. The door is unlocked, so he lets himself inside.

As a side-note, Alec is going to tell these idiots to lock their front door. This is New York City, for God’s sake. What if he _was_ a burglar or a murderer? Both of them would be dead.

Alec creeps through the dark to Jace’s bedroom. If Jace is trying to ignore him, too bad. They’re going to work this out. His best friend is going to open up to him, whether he likes it or not. But, Jace’s bed is empty. His phone is sitting on the nightstand, still lit up from Alec’s calls and texts. So that explains that. Where the hell _is_ he, then?

Clary’s pops into his head, making him grimace. _No_ , Alec dismisses that idea. Jace isn’t going to go there again after that morning’s scene. They both seemed adamant that was a one-off thing. It’s possible Jace is out at a bar or someone else’s bed, having forgotten his phone.

Maybe he should leave. But Alec hates to leave this matter unresolved and he has a _feeling_ in hit gut that Jace is exactly where he thinks he is.

He follows that instinct up the building’s stairwell to the rooftop. His breath is labored slightly from the several flights of stairs, but the satisfaction is worth it when Alec is proven right. He steps out onto the roof and finds Jace’s figure in a familiar gray hoodie, sitting by the ledge.

He knew Jace would be here. After the accident, when Jace would get into trouble at school or into arguments with Imogen, he always went high. The rooftop of the school’s library, the roof of the Herondale townhouse, even the attic of the Lightwood’s home, nestled next to the oval window.

There was something about the view from up above that comforted Jace. He told Alec once he liked the perspective, the distance, like he could disappear for a little while and simply _be_ , away from world still happening down below.

To be honest, it worried Alec. It still does. He doesn’t like Jace talking about disappearing. From then, Alec made it a point to find him when he left. It settles his worries to have Jace in his sight and that way, his best friend didn’t have to be alone. They could disappear together.

“Jace,” Alec whispers, approaching him slowly. “You okay?”

Jace’s shoulders jump when he hears him. It takes a minute before he stands up, turns around. Jace tries to discretely wipe his cheeks, but Alec still sees the wet shine in his reddened eyes.

His heart stops. Jace is _crying_.

His feet move on their own. Alec rushes forward without another thought, sealing the distance that has existed for too long between them. He guides Jace into his arms, able to exhale once Jace’s cool face presses into his neck. One arm locks around Jace’s waist, the other coming up to cup the back of his head.

And Jace clings to him. He doesn’t resist the embrace, doesn’t fight. Alec feels his hands clutching onto the back of his jacket. He was right. Jace does need him.

“Whatever it is,” Alec murmurs to him, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Alright? I’ve got you.”

Jace nods, releasing a shaky breath. He’s shivering and Alec holds him tighter.

Although the hug is meant to comfort Jace, Alec can feel himself melting in his arms. Tension bleeding out of him. He and Jace are okay, they’re going to be. His eyes close. Alec doesn’t notice when, but at some point he and Jace start swaying slightly, from side to side.

They’re comforting each other, reaffirming their connection. Without words, the wounds from past arguments are being mended. Sorry for hurting each other and letting the distance linger this long. It centers Alec, the ground settling beneath his feet. He is back where he belongs, with Jace.

Eventually Jace moves back and Alec lets him go. They both need a moment to collect themselves.

Jace crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

Alec clears his throat. His pride lodges itself like a piece of glass, but he can swallow it. “I came looking for you. I shouldn’t have attacked you, about Clary. It’s your business if you want to…start things up again.”

Jace’s lips twitch into a small, amused smirk. “You’re shit at apologizes, Lightwood. Did you even mean that?”

“Not really,” Alec admits and Jace laughs, the sound loud on the quiet rooftop. “It’s the best you’re going to get. Take it or leave it, Herondale.”

He doesn’t want to encourage Jace and Clary getting back together. It’s a mistake. Alec never liked them together in the first place. Those two are like meteors on a collision course to demolition. Clary isn’t good for him, isn’t what Jace needs. Jace needs an anchor, someone to temper his vitality without eclipsing or competing with it.

Alec sighs. “Look, you don’t need my approval. If it makes you happy, I’ll support it.”

Jace rolls his eyes, though the gesture is affectionate. “I told you, Alec, it was just sex. It’s not happening again.”

Alec thanks God for small favors. Now he regrets bringing it up at all. He had seen enough. In fact, that was more of Clary than he _ever_ wanted to see. Alec shudders.

“Will you tell me what’s really bothering you then?” Alec challenges him. He softens his voice when Jace looks away, not wanting him to shut down again. “Talk to me.”

Jace shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Alec’s hands clench, his temper pricking. He doesn’t want to fight. But he could _shake_ Jace for thinking he can lie to his face— _again_.

“It’s not _nothing_.” Alec pinches the bridge of his nose, focusing on taking deep breaths. “What happened at my engagement party—”

Jace flinches. Alec doesn’t dwell on it. He doesn’t like to remember that night either.

“The drinking, the sleeping around, us fighting,” Alec grimaces. “This isn’t you. What’s going on?”

Jace’s eyes drop to the floor, avoiding his. “I’m sorry, Alec. I…” He hesitates and Alec can sense it, how Jace _wants_ to open up to him, but they keep ramming into a locked door. “I can’t.”

Alec is stuck on the other side of it, shut out.

“ _Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus,_ ” Alec recites.

Jace’s gaze snaps back to his, wide and pleading. “I’m not _lying_ to you, Alec. Trust me, okay? It’s better for both of us if we leave it alone. I’ll be fine.”

Everything inside of Alec resists. He wants to argue. Jace is _not_ fine. His pain is squeezing a tight fist around Alec’s heart like it’s _his_ pain. He can’t leave it alone. That’s not who he and Jace are.

But Alec does trust him. That reminder is enough to get Alec to drop this and Jace is playing that card now.

Alec swallows thickly. “Okay.”

Relief floods Jace’s face at his response. He smiles. It’s not the smile Alec identifies as _Jace’s_ —where his dimples appear and his multi-colored eyes light up, like the sun emerging from behind the clouds and bathing the rooftop in a warm glow. But, Alec supposes, it’s something.

Jace returns to sitting on the roof’s ledge and Alec joins him. Pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, he can feel how lax Jace is beside him. Unwound, like him, now that they’ve called a ceasefire. For all of their bickering, he and Jace don’t do well being at odds.

Alec prefers them like _this_ , enjoying a companionable silence with the city at their feet. Completely alone. When Alec glances over, Jace’s eyes are on the skyscrapers across from them, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth in thought.

And suddenly, Alec realizes he would anything for Jace to smile again, like he _means_ it. He can’t get on that plane tomorrow without knowing Jace is really going to be okay here, by himself.

Alec nudges his shoulder. “Where are you now, Jace?”

Jace squints at him in confusion, an obvious reply on his tongue before he understands, holding Alec’s stare. He remembers their game. Grinning, Jace says, “Surfing on the Gold Coast. The air smells like sea salt. It’s a beautiful, sunny day.”

Ever since Alec had read about the theory of multiple universes, he had been fascinated by it. The idea of an infinite parallel version of _himself_ existing, living different lives. He had shared it with Jace and they made a game out of it when they were bored or needed to be distracted.

Sometimes it was a comforting thought, to imagine another Alec. In a life where he made different choices. What if he didn’t go to Columbia for law school? What if he took a gap year or studied in Rome? Where would he be? Would he be happy? _Happier_ , he corrects himself.

“Australia,” Alec notes, a smile parting his lips. He can see it. Jace has always wanted to visit and he loves the water. “I hope you remembered to put on sun block.”

Jace snorts, elbowing him in the side. “You _would_ remember logistics in a fantasy setting.”

“Safety first,” Alec retorts.

Jace shakes his head in familiar exasperation. “Your turn.”

Alec leans back on his elbows as he ponders the thought, his parallel self. “I’m in D.C. At the Cherry Blossom Festival. They’re in bloom this time of year.”

“Beautiful,” Jace murmurs, picturing it with him. “What else?”

“I live in an apartment downtown,” Alec explains, “so I can see the Monument everyday. And I work for the FBI.”

Jace whistles in approval. “Top secret government job, huh? That apartment is a safe house then. You’ve got an underground bunker and you travel through a secret tunnel system for your missions.”

Alec laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like me. I’m extremely stealthy. What about you? What are you doing in Australia?”

“Filming,” Jace answers, a bit wistfully. “It’s an action movie featuring the dangerous wildlife of Australia. Beware of wombats. Megan Fox is my co-star, of course.”

“Of course,” Alec agrees.

Jace laughs at his sarcasm, his shoulder shaking against Alec’s. The sound is warm, carefree, and loosens the last band around Alec’s chest. His breaths come easier. Finally, he has a glimpse of the vibrant, untamed boy he grew up with. Not the guarded and unsure version that’s been hiding from Alec and the rest of the world.

Jace has a soul that isn’t meant to be restrained. His passion is something Alec has always admired. He hates to think of Jace dimming himself for anyone, including him.

It’s quiet for a few moments before Jace offers him a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Alec. I’m gonna miss you.”

Alec bites his tongue before he can say, _so come to Idris_. He doesn’t understand, but he trusts Jace and that has to be enough.

Alec says, “Me too.”

 


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm as shocked as you are that Part II is really here. For a while, inspiration was _not_ happening for this story. But thanks to the lovely comments I received, I was determined to get back and make this happen. Our amazing Jalec fam deserves more content anyway, so here we are!
> 
> I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/mychemicalcliffordd/playlist/4UoiE5robXukDxBMZgYfqw?si=tJnBTNEkTeOMib8THVsgEQ) for this fic, if you want to check it out!
> 
>    
>  **Note: This is an endgame Jalec fic with Malec content. Don't like, don't read.**
> 
>    
> Enjoy!

 "It’s a tragedy,  
the way our story goes;  
_maybe, perhaps, almost._ "

-   [P.D](http://lostcap.tumblr.com/)

 

* * *

 

The world is chaos in the morning and Jace does his best to stay out of the way.

Lydia is in full drill sergeant mode. Jace watches in amusement from the couch as she tears through Izzy and Clary’s apartment, barking orders to keep everyone on track according to her strict schedule.

She has checked and re-checked the girls’ luggage so many times that Clary has threatened to _beat_ her with it if Lydia asks if they have everything again. His ex-girlfriend is not a morning person.

The door opens dragging in a tired-looking Alec and Magnus. They’re both yawning and clutching coffee cups as they bring up their luggage behind them. Totally unprepared for the nightmare that is Best Woman Lydia Branwell, with a firecracker up her ass at 7am.

“Hurry up!” Lydia bellows. “The flight leaves in 4 hours! We haven’t called a cab yet. There could be traffic and the plane could leave early and a line at customs in Idris! Let’s go!”

Alec’s wide eyes gape at her. “Lydia, breathe.”

“You missed your calling in the Marines, Branwell,” Jace calls out.

His unhelpful commentary has been ignored thus far. Jace sits back and enjoys the view of his friends half-scrambling and half-dragging themselves around like zombies. Finally, the taxis are called and are waiting in front of the building. All of the luggage is piled in the hallway, waiting to be hauled downstairs.

Simon approaches him first. His smile is bright, his excitement palpable. He’s never been to Idris before, so Jace understands his enthusiasm. He _is_ going to miss his roommate, though.

Jace’s amusement dries up. Here comes the part he was dreading: the goodbyes.

“Have fun, man.” Jace stands up to hug him, getting a brief whiff of Simon’s laundry detergent. He ruffles Simon’s hair. “Visit the pubs for me.”

Simon laughs. “Will do. I’ll get you a T-shirt too.”

He hugs the girls’ goodbye, promising Clary that he’ll keep an eye on their apartment while they’re gone.

At Isabelle’s turn, she pulls back to look in his eyes, her hands softly gripping his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, Jace.”

He has to look away, his jaw ticking. Jace has done nothing to be proud of. He’s taken the coward’s way out at every turn. He doesn’t ask Izzy what she means by it.

Soon the room clears out, his friends disappearing down the hallway until their voices fade. In the lingering quiet, Jace glances at the only person left standing by the door. Alec.

His best friend offers him a feeble, half-smile. “Last chance to change your mind.”

Jace isn’t going to do that and they both know it. His mind has been made up for months. He can’t watch Alec marry the love of his life and hold himself together at the same time. It’s his most selfish act and Jace hates himself for not being a stronger, better man.

“Good luck, man,” Jace forces himself to say. It feels stilted and wrong, like he’s reading from a script.

Alec looks just as lost as he feels. He’s skimming his fingers over each other, back and forth.

“I can’t believe you won’t be there,” he mutters. “It’s my wedding, Jace.”

 _Don’t,_ Jace pleads with him silently. _Don’t make this harder than it already is._

He can’t stand the disappointment in Alec’s voice. Jace quickly crosses the room over to him, as if physical contact can say all the words he won’t dare.

He throws himself into Alec’s arms. Despite his obvious frustration, his best friend doesn’t deny him. He hugs Jace back and for those few moments in each other’s arms, the world actually makes sense. There is peace and understanding shared while Alec’s large hand strokes his back and Jace lets himself breathe him in like it will be the last time.

This feels like goodbye for more than just a trip to Idris. For Jace, this is saying goodbye to a chance he never really had to begin with. An illusion of separation. Alec was never his, but his chest aches anyway, because Jace’s heart still belongs to him.

“Bye,” Jace murmurs.

He pulls back and blinks the moisture out of his eyes so Alec won’t see.

For a long while, Alec stares at him, frowning to himself. Trying to make sense of his unanswered questions. But his phone buzzes and it’s time for him to go.

He nods at Jace one last time and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jace goes back to his apartment across the hall. He lays down in his bed, tugging his sheets over his head. Any dream will be a welcome change from this reality.  

—

Idris is more beautiful than Isabelle remembers.

She hasn’t visited since the trip her family took when she was six. That was to visit their grandmother, Maryse’s mother, briefly before she passed away. Izzy doesn’t remember much about the woman, but she was awed by the country her mother once called home.

The land seems like a setting from a fairy tale book compared to the urban New York City. There are rolling green hills, lush forests enclosing the perimeter, and lakes spread throughout the open area. There’s even a town square at the center, featuring the Whitechapel Hotel where Alec and Magnus will be married.

“It’s so quaint,” Clary notes beside her, taking everything in.

Their group has been allotted free time after they checked into their rooms. The grooms were overseeing arrangements at the reception hall and they had lost Simon to the food stand selling fresh pretzels.

It’s just her, Clary and Lydia walking the cobblestone streets and sight-seeing. The town is old-fashioned and probably outdated, but it’s still lovely to look at. Clary’s green eyes practically shine drinking in the classical architecture.

“ _You’re_ so cute,” Izzy teases, tugging on one of Clary’s short braids.

Clary sticks her tongue out at her. Then she raises the blue Polaroid camera she’s been carrying with her and aims it at Isabelle.

Izzy is never one to shy away from any spotlight. She strikes a pose, giving her back to the camera as she smiles over her shoulder. Clary snaps the photo. She waits for it to print and adds it to her collection in her tiny album. Then she turns the camera toward Lydia.

“No way.” Lydia shields her face with her hand. “No more pictures!”

“Come on,” Clary whines as she lowers the camera. “It’s for Alec and Magnus’s wedding present. I’m making them a collage!”

Lydia doesn’t budge. A laugh escapes Izzy as Lydia snaps her Aviator sunglasses over her eyes. She snatches the Polaroid from Clary and hands it over to their blonde friend instead.

“Fine. Take one of us.”

Izzy laces her fingers through Clary’s, towing her behind her over to the large marble fountain in the center of the square. Lydia gives them to the count of three. Isabelle pulls Clary into her side, one arm looped around her small waist. When Lydia gets ready to snap the picture, Izzy kisses her on the cheek while Clary makes a playfully scrunched face.

“These looks like they should be _your_ wedding photos,” Lydia remarks dryly.

They convince Lydia to take a few more Polaroids of them in various poses. Clary insists she needs a lot of photos for the collage she has in mind and Isabelle is more than willing to contribute. Eventually they start getting looks from the locals in the square, so they decide to move on with their tour.

As the afternoon dwindles into early evening, the street come alive with Idris natives finishing their work day and other visiting tourists checking out the night life scene. The scenery becomes even more beautiful when the fountain lights up and the square is ignited by the glow of street lamps. Several of the town’s shops and restaurants are adorned by string lights.

They meet up with the boys for dinner in one of the taverns. Part of Isabelle doesn’t want the night to end, enjoying the trip with just the six of them. Tomorrow would bring the rehearsal dinner and the arrival of their parents. She looks forward to seeing Max, of course, but her stomach tightens with dread at a full Lightwood family reunion.

After dinner their group splits up, some retiring to bed after the long day. Izzy isn’t ready to sleep just yet and she can tell Clary isn’t either, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine they drank. The excitement from being in a quaint, foreign town is thrumming between them like a livewire.

“Oh!” Clary gasps in delight when they’re passing by one of the side streets. There are people clapping and couples dancing to a live saxophone playing. “Let’s go dancing!”

Isabelle giggles, nodding. Clary’s enthusiasm is contagious and she can’t deny those big, hopeful eyes turned on her.

They skip over to the throng of people with their hands swinging, locked together. The crowd cheers when Izzy twirls Clary around—her red hair fanning around her like fire under the twinkling lights. They dance and swing each other around, their laughter blending in with the clapping and the saxophone’s soulful notes.

Isabelle has always wanted this, deep down. Instead of attending the prestigious Ivy League school and following the plan laid out by her parents since before she was even born, Izzy’s heart craved adventure. She denied herself the chance at taking a gap year and exploring the world after graduating high school, still chasing her parents’ approval, always out of her reach.

What a waste. It wasn’t until Isabelle actually had the degree, the trust fund at her fingertips, the nice boy from the respectable family knocking on her door that she felt it—the crushing weight of unhappiness. This isn’t what she wanted her life to be. A Stepford wife. Her parents’ perfect daughter.

She wanted something of her _own_ , something to be proud of.

Clary helped give her that, although Izzy is sure her best friend doesn’t know it. She let Izzy live with her after Dot moved out, encouraged her to find a job when she bemoaned how she was groomed to be a socialite and unqualified to do _anything_.

Clary was her rock, during that hard first year, as Isabelle struggled to make it on her own without her parents’ money. She couldn’t have survived it without her.

It makes Isabelle smile now at the memories. How naïve she had been. Clary even had to teach her how to do her own laundry at the Laundromat. They laughed their asses off when Isabelle’s excessive use of detergent nearly flooded the place.

They dance until they’re out of breath, in need of water. The blood is drumming through Isabelle’s body like it’s own music. She doesn’t feel tired, she feels _alive_.

“This is awesome,” Izzy shouts as Clary sips from a water bottle.

Clary bobs her head in agreement, her smile bright. “I have to admit; I didn’t think this trip would be that fun.”

Izzy gasps in mock-offense, but she gets it. The way her parents tell it, Idris is supposed to be some rural, boring town for old money and ancient landmarks.

“I always have fun with you,” Izzy responds, shrugging. She was never worried about that.

Clary’s smile widens. It gives Isabelle a warm rush, down to her fingertips, like she’s accomplished something amazing. She wants to bottle this feeling up, savor it for tomorrow night when her mother makes her feel small and inadequate.

Clary reaches out to tuck a wild strand of Isabelle’s hair back, sticking to her neck with sweat. She nudges her when Izzy is too quiet. “You must be excited that Alec is getting married.”

“Of course.” Izzy flashes a smile.

She is. She ignores the voice in the back of her head, the sisterly concern, nagging her about Alec’s mood at dinner. He’s stressed, but he’s allowed to be. And if his eyes kept straying around the table, looking for the face missing from their group, that’s okay too. He’s allowed to miss Jace. They all do.

Clary’s brow wrinkles as she looks at her. “Iz, what’s wrong?”

Her roommate knows her too well. “Nothing. The exhaustion is catching up with me. We should go to bed.”

Clary bites her lip, but she doesn’t push. She lets Izzy talk about her excitement to see how the decorations came out as they stroll back to the hotel.

It’s easier to talk about that, than explain the hard rock of dread that is sitting in the pit of her stomach. A sense of foreboding that something isn’t right. Isabelle dismisses it as nerves. She wants her brother’s wedding to be perfect. She has no reason to think it won’t be. 

—

“ _Alexander_.”

Judging by the sharp edge to his tone, this isn’t the first time Magnus has called his name.

Alec drags his eyes up from his phone. There’s several messages from his mother, back in New York. His inbox is flooded with emails from colleagues at work. But nothing from Jace.

Magnus gives him a pointed look and glances to their event coordinator, waiting to show them the finished center pieces in the reception hall.

“Sorry,” Alec forces the apology out. He looks back to his fiancé. “Jace still hasn’t answered me.”

Magnus lays a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m sure he’s fine. Right now, Evelyn requires our attention.’

 _Right_. Alec grimaces as he slides his phone into his pocket. The details for the wedding are tedious and endless. But all the planning is nearly over, so he braces himself as he follows Evelyn into the hall.

They go over the center piece arrangements, the approved songs for the playlist, the itinerary for the reception. With each listing, Alec finds himself just nodding along. Magnus is the expert at party planning, so Alec is more than happy to step back and let him oversee the preparations.

His focus drifts back to New York, to Jace.

It isn’t like Jace not to call him after an audition. He always tells Alec how it went. Under normal circumstances, his radio silence would be odd, but considering his behavior on their last night together and this leaves Alec with a cause for concern.

Whenever he closes his eyes, Alec sees Jace’s face streaked with tears. Although not the type to hold back his emotions, Jace hasn’t been this distraught since his parents’ tragic death _years_ ago. His best friend is hurting, alone at home, and here Alec is discussing wedding toasts.

Guilt ties his stomach into a hard knot. It all seems so trivial, pretending to care about party details when all he can think about is Jace.

“And you, Mr. Lightwood?” Evelyn’s sharp blue eyes cut to him. “Any questions? Concerns?”

“No. Everything looks fine.”

Magnus frowns at him from the corner of his eye. “Evelyn,” he says. “Do you think we could have a minute?”

Their event coordinator smiles brightly. “Of course! It’s a lot to take in. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Her heels echo off the wood floor as she leaves them alone in the reception hall.

“You didn’t listen to a word she said,” Magnus accuses him. “You had a whole list of demands about the itinerary last week, but now everything is _fine_.”

“What?” Alec demands, picking up on the scorn even if he can’t fathom the reason for it. “I trust your judgment, Magnus. What’s wrong with that?”

Magnus huffs. “This wedding isn’t about me. It’s supposed to be about _us_. Is it so unreasonable of me that I want you to care about it?”

“I do,” he argues. “I care about marrying you. Do I care about the first song they play or if the flowers match our ‘theme’? No, I really don’t. But I know you do, so I figure I’ll let you handle it.”

Magnus nods sharply, his mouth twisted into a scowl. “And you’ll just what? Show up?”

His eyes roll. The last thing he wants is to get into a pointless argument about this. “What do you want from me?

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Alec pulls it out, glancing hopefully at the screen. But it’s just a text from Izzy, asking about their plans as a group for dinner.

“What I want,” Magnus continues hotly, “is to not be competing for your attention with your _phone_ , Alexander!”

Alec’s eyes snap up at gape at his fiancé in disbelief. “It’s Izzy! What’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t make me out to be the difficult one right now. You’ve been looking at your phone constantly since we landed here. Is this how our honeymoon is going to go as well? Will I be left waiting around like a fool for my turn to have my husband’s full attention?”

The hurt and frustration brimming behind Magnus’s tirade stun him. He had no idea his absentmindedness these days had upset him so deeply.

Alec crosses the small distance between them, taking Magnus’s face in his hands. “You are _not_ a fool. I’m sorry. I’m here, okay? All yours.”

He expects his words to help heal the wounds of his carelessness. Only Magnus’s eyes drop away from his. The façade his fiancé had been keeping up in front of others is torn away, leaving only pain and indignation behind.

“What?” Alec presses. “What is this about? Talk to me, Magnus, please.”

His eyes fall close, seemingly trying to collect himself. A long while passes in heavy silence while Alec waits, his breath caught in his chest.

At last, Magnus answers, his voice low and weary. “From the moment I met you, I knew I was entering into a relationship where I could only have pieces of you. You have a huge heart, Alexander and I love that, I do. You love your family so intensely. I accepted that I would have to share you with them. And with Jace.”

Alec’s pulse stutters. He doesn’t dare interrupt his fiancé opening up to him, though.

“I saw how close you were,” he says softly. “And at times, I’ve even felt like there was a third person in _our_ relationship. I could deal with it—or so I told myself, as long as your heart was still mine. Is it, Alec?”

Hearing his nickname from Magnus’s lips is almost as jarring as the rest of his question. Magnus has always said his name with affection, among other emotions, but now it almost sounds as if a stranger is speaking to him. Someone who doesn’t know him at all.

Alec’s hands fall to his sides as he steps away. “What are you asking me?”

Magnus’s face shutters, steeling himself for what he has to ask. “Do you truly not know why Jace can’t be here for you?” At his silence he adds, “Tell me it doesn’t affect anything. Tell me it doesn’t matter.”

The phone is his pocket has become a hot coal, burning against his thigh. The heat spreads to Alec, turning his body temperature up until the air in the hall feels stifling, sucked dry. He can’t breathe.

Alec shakes his head. The motion is too fast; the room threatens to tilt with it.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “He’s my best friend, Magnus. I’m worried about him. But that has nothing to do with _us_.”

Magnus hold his gaze, doubt flickering in the depth of his eyes. He doesn’t believe him. How can this be happening? A day before their wedding and his future husband is already walking into their marriage doubting him.

The reception hall’s doors open, bringing Evelyn and her loud footsteps back into the room. “Okay, gentlemen. The video photographer is waiting in the lobby—”

“I need some air,” Alec announces.

He pushes past Evelyn and strides through the lobby, taking a detour to the outdoor deck behind the hotel. It is mercifully empty and there is no one around to witness Alec slamming his fist into the railing. He punches with both fists until the pain in his knuckles screams louder than the air trapped in his lungs.

Physical pain is so much easier to take than whatever is trying to claw its way up, hot and demanding, from the very core of him.

When he’s done, Alec slides down to the floor and leans against the railing. His breath comes in harsh pants. The world has yet to right itself, spinning out from under his control. The only reprieve from the rage that is choking him, blinding him, is nicotine to whiten out his senses.

Alec chain-smokes through three cigarettes before his hands stop trembling and his jaw unlocks. He is still furious, but at least now he is able to register the stinging in his bleeding knuckles. It makes Alec smile humorlessly. He’s going to look less than picture-perfect on his wedding day.

Alec crushes his last cigarette beneath his foot. He should go back inside, attend to his groom duties. He should speak to Magnus in private, make sure to dispel the shadows in his eyes. Instead, Alec digs out his phone and calls Jace.

He gets his voicemail. Again.

“I don’t know why I called you,” Alec exhales. “I’m pissed at you, too. Fuck you for not being here, Herondale. You’re supposed to make me laugh when I feel like hitting something. Tell me I’m being a dickhead. Tell me to get over myself.”

Alec rubs his eyes tiredly. “It’s been a day and I miss you. Simon is right. We are fucking co-dependent. I have to go. Just…delete this.”

He hangs up. 

—

Jace nails his audition for a three-episode arc on _American Horror Story_. And the first thing he wants to do is call Alec and tell him.

He can’t, of course. His best friend is consumed with wedding duties and Jace is doing his best not to think about that. So he boards the subway and holds onto the news to share with his grandmother. Imogen is expecting him for lunch.

“Welcome, Jonathan,” Imogen says when she opens the door for him. Although not exactly affectionate, his grandmother has always been as accommodating as possible.

Jace kisses her on the cheek and follows her inside. She has their meal cooking in the kitchen, tinging the air with delectable scents. His stomach grumbles as Jace sits at the round wooden table. His grandmother knows how much he likes to eat and she’s made it her personal mission to have him well-fed since he was twelve-years-old.

Imogen wasn’t around as much, prior to that. Jace has spotty childhood memories of seeing her for the occasional holiday. His grandmother never approved of his father’s marriage to Celine, although Stephen insisted there was more to the story and Imogen was _difficult_ , as he put it. His mother attempted to shield Jace from most of the family drama.

Losing her son and daughter-in-law inevitably changed Imogen’s heart. Family became a priority over old grudges and her work ambitions. She did everything in her power to facilitate a healthy relationship with Jace as she raised him. And even when Jace was an unruly and often troublesome teenager, his grandmother never gave up on him. Never threatened to throw him out. She loved him unconditionally.

“I hope you’re staying out of trouble,” Imogen remarks as she fixes them glasses of iced tea.

“I do try, but alas, trouble finds me,” Jace replies loftily. At his grandmother’s unamused look, he raises his hands. “Out of the trouble with the law, absolutely.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Imogen retorts.

For all her love, Jace has no doubts Captain Imogen Herondale would string him by his ears on the Statue of Liberty if he embarrassed her by getting arrested. He _does_ have his limits.

After Jace sets the table for the two of them and Imogen serves the food, they start catching up. Jace tells her about how his acting and modeling career is going. His grandmother doesn’t approve of his career path, naturally, but she’s supportive enough. Always offers to send money when—if—he ends up living in a cardboard box on the side of the road.

In turn, Imogen shares some of her recent stories about work. The NYPD is never short on bizarre and often hilarious crimes committed by the population. At least once a week Imogen has to charge someone for public indecency, if not more.

Imogen passes on Luke Graymark’s usual request to keep an eye on his stepdaughter, Clary. Luke works in the homicide department and is like a pseudo-father to all of Clary’s friends.

“You can tell him that Clary still carries her taser,” Jace says. “And her and Izzy got their black belts together. Luke has nothing to worry about.”

Imogen’s sharp blue eyes latch on to him after she sets down her glass.  “How’s the Lightwood boy? You usually don’t shut your trap about him.”

Jace scoffs. “Gee, thanks, Grandma.”

She raises a thin eyebrow, easily able to detect her grandson’s deflection. “Well?”

Jace pushes around the leftover peas on his plate. “He’s um. Getting married this week.”

“Ah, yes.” His grandmother nods. “I believe I heard something about that. They’re having it in the Lightwood’s home country, correct? Idris.”

“Yeah.” Jace reaches for his drink to quench his bone-dry throat. One day, he hopes, this will stop hurting to talk about. He’ll be over it and the mention of Alec being married to Magnus won’t shred his happiness to pieces.

He can feel Imogen’s heavy stare on him. “Won’t you be attending, Jonathan?”

“No,” he pushes out. “Everyone left this morning. I’m staying here.”

“Did he reject you?”

Jace’s head snaps up. “ _What_?”

There’s an angry purse to her painted lips, like she’s ready to write Alec a _fine_ or something for hurting her grandson. “Well, he’s your oldest friend. I’m assuming you disclosed your feelings to him and he spurned your advances. Why else wouldn’t you be there for him?”

His jaw is hanging open. Jace’s brain fizzles with static for a few moments before he can process what she’s saying. Of fucking course his _grandmother_ knows he’s in love with Alec. All five boroughs must know by now. God, when did he become so pathetic?

“No, he—he didn’t…” Jace exhales sharply and looks at her in resignation. “How long have you known, Grandma?”

Imogen pats his hand softly. “As long as you were living under my roof. I raised you, Jonathan. Despite what I thought of it, your father used to look at Celine the same way you do at that boy.”

Jace laughs at himself humorlessly. _Fantastic._

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Jace admits quietly. “I just can’t be there.”

“Hmm.” Her eyes survey him like there’s a puzzle before her, one she has all the pieces to. “So, you’ve never spoken to him about it. Not once in over ten years.”

Jace shakes his head. He’s seen no reason to have that painful conversation. Might as well spare himself the heartbreak and Alec having to let him down gently. He knows without Alec having to spell it out. He knows.

Jace doesn’t think he can bear to hear the words from Alec himself. _We’re friends, brothers. I love you, but not like_ that. He’d rather die.

“Jonathan, that’s unacceptable. Your parents and I didn’t raise you to be a coward.”

“What?” Jace splutters at her. She’s calling him names now? “I’m not a _coward_. I’m strategically trying to avoid having my heart blown to smithereens. There’s a difference.”

Imogen isn’t hearing any of this. “You’re making excuses. You’ve never given anything between the two of you a chance and now you’re hiding here, moping, instead of declaring your love. That is cowardice.”

Jace is in too much shock to be offended, but he definitely feels like he _should_ be. Somehow lunch with his grandmother had turned into him defending his most painfully kept secret.

“There’s no point! Alec doesn’t feel that way about me, okay?” The words fall from his lips like shards of glass, slicing his tongue on their way out. “He’s _marrying_ someone else. It’s too late for me to do anything about it, even if I wanted to.”

His eyes burn with the threat of tears. Damn it. Jace quickly blinks them away. Why does he have to keep talking about this? _Soon_ , Jace promises himself, _it will be over._

Two days. Ticking in the back of his mind like a bomb set to detonate. In two days, Alec will be married. And maybe then, like magic, Jace will wake up and be okay about that. He’ll accept it because his best friend will be happy—thrilled, even. That’s enough for him.

If Jace waits just a little bit longer, maybe this pain will fade and keep fading. Maybe it will become bearable enough, until he can talk to Alec and it becomes something they can laugh about, one day. _Remember when I was in love with you? Hi-larious_.

“Jace.” His grandmother grabs his hand, eyes soft and apologetic at having upset him. But she has something to say and that Herondale stubbornness is going to make him listen.

“Let me tell you something I learned the hard way, dear boy. You need to tell the people you love that you love them while they can hear you.”  

Here Imogen gets choked up at well. Her blue eyes glisten as Jace’s own grief floods through him from the pit of his heart. They’ll never heal fully from that tragic loss, but this pain Jace doesn’t mind feeling. He likes remembering them, keeping their memory alive, especially with someone who loved his parents like he did.

“You won’t have forever,” Imogen tells him, voice hoarse. “Do you want to end up like me? An old woman living with her regrets? I kept silent about too many things I should have said and I lost time I’ll never get back.”

His grandmother takes a moment to compose herself. Her eyes stray to the framed photo of Stephen and Celine on the wall before turning back to him, determined. “I don’t want you to miss out on a great love, Jonathan. What if you’re wrong? What if Alexander loves you as well? You will never know if you don’t speak up. It takes courage, but I know you have it in you.”

Jace looks away, swallowing thickly. His emotions are too close to the surface. Whirling inside him, tangling him up. He can’t think straight.

But there’s one thought, one powerful idea that is firing through his bloodstream. Lighting him from the inside out with glorious possibility. _What if, what if._

He never told Alec the truth. Not a hint. A part of Jace thinks his best friend must be dense if he hasn’t figured it out by now, but maybe Alec was waiting to hear it from him. If there’s even a slim chance that Alec could feel the same way, how could Jace not explore it? The thought of losing that chance, losing _Alec_ , is unfathomable.

Jace hasn’t fought for him. He hasn’t even stepped foot in the ring.

What an _idiot_ he’s been. He’s wasted so many years already. His grandmother is right. He’s been hiding, avoiding being honest, making excuses because he’s afraid. Jace knows what it’s like to have the love in his heart try to destroy him. To be abandoned by people that were always supposed to be there for him.

Loving Alec, being loved by him, and then losing it might kill him.

But he might get everything he’s ever wanted since he was thirteen.

Jace pushes out of his chair, bursting with sudden energy. “I have to go!”

Imogen smiles at him. “Perhaps I should buy you a plane ticket.” 

—

He can’t sleep that night. Jace can’t still the anticipation that bounces around inside him, keeping his eyes wide open and his heart fluttering. He wishes Simon were there in the next room, so he could bug him instead of staring at his bedroom ceiling.

At long last, the sun rises. Jace figures, if anything he can sleep on the plane ride.

He has a packed suitcase, his passport and a (expensive, last minute) plane ticket for a flight to Idris, leaving in two hours. Jace locks the doors to both apartments before he leaves. The guilt he feels about leaving the girls’ place unsupervised is small enough to ignore. This is important.

Jace stops by Central Perk for a cup of coffee. He’ll ask Maia to look at their places while they’re all gone, making sure nobody tries to rob them or something.

Maia’s response isn’t exactly what he expects.

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard!”

“Really?” Jace mocks, a knee-jerk reaction to cover his shock. “What about that time I suggested we give out a Sexy People discount on the muffins?”

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Maia demands. She doesn’t both to acknowledge his snarky comment. “Seriously, Jace. Are you stupid?”

Jace stares at her. Okay, so in his excitement, he may have unwisely blabbed to Maia _why_ he was hopping on a last minute flight to Idris. Should have kept that tidbit to himself.

Bat, one of her friends from class and a Central Perk regular, is more supportive. “I think it’s kind of romantic.”

Maia turns her incredulous glare on him next. Jace gives the kid props for not cowering. Despite being gorgeous, Maia Roberts is also kind of terrifying when she’s pissed.

“It’s not romantic, it’s insane!” Maia flails her arms, one hand holding a dish towel that almost smacks Jace in the face. “Jace, you’re going to ruin Alec’s wedding. What are you thinking?”

Jace rolls his eyes. “No, I’m really not. Look, it’s not gonna be one of those cliché moments when I object in the middle of the ceremony.” He fake-gags at the thought. “I’m just gonna talk to him beforehand.”

Maia plants her hands on her hips as she stares him down, like he’s a moron. “And you don’t think that’s going to _ruin_ everything? What if you make him change his mind?”

Jace groans loudly. He should have gone to Starbucks.

“If his mind is changed that easily, maybe he’s marrying the wrong guy!”

“He has a point,” Bat chimes in.

Maia’s stormy expression lets up from furious to pleading. “Jace, if you really care about him, you won’t do this. It won’t end well. Not for you or him or Magnus. Think about who you might hurt.”

A part of Jace can admit that she makes some valid points. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s not racing across the globe in some selfish, desperate act to ruin Alec’s wedding. All he hopes for is a minute, one conversation where he confesses his feelings and they go from there. It’s probably the most impulsive things he’s ever done—on a long list of reckless acts—but this is his _last chance_.

He’s loved Alec for half of his life. Jace can’t let him go for anyone, not without fighting with everything he’s got. Because if Jace were to believe in soul mates, he knows Alec is his.

“I have to tell him how I feel,” Jace insists. “He deserves to know. No matter how it ends.”

Maia walks off when she realizes she isn’t changing his mind. She gets him his drink in a to-go cup and takes the spare keys from him with the grudging promise to look after their apartments. Bat, the adorable kid, wishes Jace luck as he watches him sprint out of the coffee shop.

Jace hails a cab down and climbs in, breathless with exhilaration. “LaGuardia Airport, please.”

His mind is racing at full-speed and his nerves are making his whole body buzz, but he has nothing to do now but wait. Wait to reach the airport, wait to land in Idris, wait to find Alec. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to prepare what he’s actually going to _say_.

He tries to think of the right words, as the taxi crawls through the morning traffic. But all that comes to him is cheesy dialogue from romantic comedies. Jace won’t beg Alec not to marry Magnus. That much he’s sure of. If Alec’s heart truly belongs with the other man, Jace isn’t going to stand in the way of that.

He’ll wing it, Jace decides. When the time comes, he’ll find the right words. Or maybe he’ll just kiss him.

Jace shakes his head to clear out the delicious daydream that takes shape, of kissing Alec. He pulls out his phone to distract himself. In all the excitement happening, Jace hasn’t checked his phone to see if the casting people called about his audition. Honestly, he had forgotten all about that.

He has no missed calls from them or his agent. But there’s a voicemail sitting in his inbox from Alec.

His heart picks up double-time at the sight. Jace clicks play.

Alec’s voice filters through, tired, agitated. “ _I don’t know why I called you_.” An exhale. “ _I’m pissed at you, too. Fuck you for not being here, Herondale. You’re supposed to make me laugh when I feel like hitting something. Tell me I’m being a dickhead. Tell me to get over myself_.”

A pause. “ _It’s been a day and I miss you. Simon is right. We are fucking co-dependent. I have to go. Just…delete this_.”

He won’t. A grin is spread on his face when the message ends. Jace plays it again. 

—

He’s going to make this right. Alec is informed by Evelyn that his fiancé is in his hotel room, so Alec takes the elevator up to the 10th floor. They’re booked into separate rooms before the wedding night. Alec has to knock on the door.

It takes a minute but Magnus opens up, expression stiff. He lets Alec in silently.

Magnus smells the smoke on him. Alec knows he does, spotting the irritated twitch of his nose, but evidently they’re picking their battles today and his fiancé doesn’t serve his usual lecture about filthy habits and lung cancer.

They face each other in the middle of the room. The blasting air conditioning makes the atmosphere even more frigid. Magnus’s glare is heavy across from him, weighted down with sorrow.

Alec can’t stand seeing him in pain or the gulf of distance still between them.

He charges across the room and pulls Magnus into a desperate kiss. He hands fit over Magnus’s slender hips, fusing him against his body. Alec’s tongue traces over his bottom lip, begging to be let in. To close the emotional gap separating them.

Finally, Magnus melts against him. Their tongues sweep together as the kiss deepens, still hard and fueled by Alec’s panic at losing him. He feels Magnus’s hands clutching at his hair. He kisses Alec back just as urgently.   

“I don't want to lose you,” Alec murmurs when they break apart. “You’re the man I want to marry, Magnus. Please say you believe me.”

His fiancé nods, seemingly too overcome with emotion to speak. His hands are tender as they stroke the planes of Alec’s face. His eyes become familiar again, gazing at Alec like he is everything he has been waiting for.

That look flattens out his guilt, his own plaguing self-doubts. He is still the man that Magnus wants to spend his life with too. 

Magnus kisses him softly. It’s Alec that deepens it, getting greedy as he slips his tongue in. He relishes in the moan that Magnus releases.

Desire pulses in his veins. And under the rising tide of his arousal, Alec recognizes the need to chase away his fiancé’s fears. He’ll prove his passion and make it up to Magnus, for hurting him. Starting now, the next twenty-four hours are going to be nothing but bliss.

Alec’s hands slink up from his ass to his hips, slowly guiding Magnus backward, to the bed.

That’s when his fiancé releases him and slides his lips, reluctantly, away. “Save that for the wedding night, tiger,” Magnus teases.

Alec smirks, prodding him until he falls back-first in the center of the bed. “I don’t care.”

He climbs in to join him, covering Magnus’s body with his own. 

—

Isabelle’s nerves are kicking in when they arrive at the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. It wouldn't be a Lightwood family affair without some kind of scene. 

She’d spent most of the day with Max and Alec, getting in some much needed Lightwood sibling bonding time. They took Max to the town’s bookstore where their little brother bounced around in excitement and lounged around the hotel’s pool for the afternoon.

She was only forced to spent time with her parents for lunch. That had been a non-negotiable family meal, though Izzy texted Clary throughout at her parents stilted behavior with each other and Maryse’s obligatory comments about Izzy’s fashion career, which she viewed as a complete waste in their investment in their daughter’s education.

Alec tried to keep the peace, as always. Then Izzy’s irritation become about her parents’ thinly veiled disapproval of Magnus as Alec’s chosen partner.

Robert and Maryse Lightwood were impossible to please. Even when having the wedding in Maryse’s hometown—which Izzy knows her brother did just for their mom’s sake—she _still_ had underhand comments to make about the _rush_. Why was Alec getting married so soon? His career was just taking off and there were so many options Alec had yet to explore (meaning the suitable sons of people Maryse and Robert did business with).

Naturally, it was a taxing lunch.

Isabelle only got through it, barely, by the hilarious Tyra Banks memes that Clary sent her in encouragement.

“Can I get you a drink, miss?”

Isabelle’s head turns at the familiar voice. She offers Magnus a weak smile, with one elbow leaning on the bar beside her. “I’ll take a Martini. Make it a double.”

Magnus’s lip quirks upward. He signals the bar tender and orders a Martini for both of them before turning back to her. Izzy runs her eyes over him in approval. He looks extra fashionable tonight. His eyeliner shimmers even in the room’s dim lighting and he’s dressed impeccably in a red velvet blazer, matching his red highlights, over the black dress shirt and tight slacks.

“You look amazing. Did you let Raphael dress you tonight too?” She teases, thinking of the way Simon bragged about Raphael letting him borrow a suit for tomorrow.

“Please.” Magnus scoffs, throwing her a playfully disdainful sneer. “I taught that boy _everything_ he knows.”

Izzy is sure Raphael would sing a different tune, if she asks him. She cocks her head to the side as a brilliant realization strikes her. “That was all your doing, wasn’t it?”

When Magnus lifts a curious brow, Isabelle discretely turns her gaze across the room where Simon and Raphael are currently immersed in conversation. Not that they’d notice if she pointed them out, too engrossed in each other and ignoring everyone else in the room.

She recognizes all the signs of her friend’s awkwardly endearing flirting. Simon is fidgeting incessantly with the zipper on his jacket and she hears the echo of his loud, nervous laughter—wanting Raphael to know he thinks he’s funny.

Magnus’s eyes glint as he watches the pair as well. He looks like a proud, meddling parent. Izzy has felt similarly as a proud, meddling sibling. “I can’t take _all_ the credit. I merely gave them a little nudge in the right direction.”

Izzy laughs as Magnus receives their drinks and hands her the filled martini glass. She holds hers up before either of them can take a sip. “A toast—to both new and lasting romances. Let’s hope they can be as fortunate as you and my brother.”

“Cheers.” Magnus smiles as he lightly taps his glass against hers.

He gives her a minute for them to sip their drinks in comfortable silence. They each watch the room, where the cocktail hour before the rehearsal dinner is in full swing and their loved ones are mingling. Not far from them, Alec and Lydia are conversing with their cousin Aline and her new girlfriend, Helen.

At last, Magnus sets down his half-drank glass. “Talk to me, angel. Why are you hiding your beautiful self at the bar?”

Isabelle sighs, swirling a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “The tales of my mother’s merciless criticism are too depressing for tonight’s celebration, Magnus.”

“Ah.” Understanding shades Magnus’s expression. “Maryse does seem to be in rare form tonight.”

Isabelle finishes draining her drink in record time. The warm flush of alcohol is settling over her nicely, though not quite enough to drown out her self-pity. She needs another drink for that.

She’s reaching the bottom of her second Martini glass when her mother waves her over from across the room. Isabelle pretends not to see her, as her eyes dart around for an escape.

Magnus is busy laughing with his friends Catarina and Ragnor at the end of the bar. She can see Alec is on the terrace with Lydia, their backs both to her. Where is Clary?

“ _Isabelle_ ,” her mother calls. “Come over here.”

Damn it. Izzy fires off texts to Clary’s phone. _Where are u?!! I need u!_

She has no choice but to walk over to the group, clutching her phone like a lifeline. Her parents are standing with a man that appears to be in his mid-thirties, dressed formerly. Her keen eye can’t help but notice that his clothes aren’t tailored and hang off of him in an unflattering manner.

“Isabelle, this is Harry DuPont,” her mother introduces them. “He’s the son of an old friend. Harry’s father owns several businesses here in Idris. Harry, this is my daughter, Isabelle.”

Izzy shakes his clammy hand politely. She can smell a set-up from a mile away. Her mother has found another “suitable match” for her only daughter.

“Isabelle graduated from Princeton summa cum laude,” Maryse announces proudly.

Harry smiles at her. “Very impressive. What do you do now, Isabelle?”

She answers him before her mother can intervene. “I work in fashion. I’m a buyer at Ralph Lauren.”

“Fashion is a hobby, dear,” Maryse reminds her, as if she could forget her mother’s stance on the matter. She continues as if Izzy hadn’t spoken. “Isabelle received her degree in business and marketing. She’ll be earning her MBA in the near future.”

“No, I won’t.” Izzy snaps. “I told you, Mother. I’m happy at Ralph Lauren.”

“Isabelle, please,” she chastises her. Beside them, Harry looks vaguely uncomfortable.

The conversation moves on to Harry’s life in Idris. Isabelle is forced to listen to the story of his divorce while her mother shoots off questions like this is a formal interview. Meanwhile, Robert gets to stand there on his phone and tune them all out.

_Lucky bastard._

Finally, Harry excuses himself to visit the restroom. Isabelle exhales in relief and reaches for a glass of champagne from one of the caterer’s serving trays. However, it is plucked out of her hand by her mother.

Her dark glare radiates disapproval. “Are you trying to get inebriated at your brother’s rehearsal dinner? We’re in front of guests, Isabelle.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. It only matters how we _look_ to other people. What other boring bachelors do you want to flaunt me in front of, Mother?”

“Despite your total lack of appreciation, I’m trying to help you,” her mother hisses. “You’re twenty-seven years old and single. You live with a _roommate_ and have wasted your education on selling clothes to more successful people. Is that what you call a life, Isabelle?”

She can feel the blood pounding furiously inside her skull. Isabelle bites down on her lip hard enough to break the skin. She won’t make a scene at Alec and Magnus’s rehearsal dinner. She won’t let her mother goad her again. She _won’t_.

After counting slowly to herself, Izzy tries to speak calmly. “I understand you don’t approve of my choices. But now isn’t the time or place to discuss it.”

Without waiting for her reply, Isabelle turns on her heel and marches away. Her big brother would be proud of her diplomacy.

The last time they had this conversation at a formal event, Isabelle threw her glass of champagne onto her mother’s vintage Vera Wang dress. This must be what growing up feels like. It sucks.

Now, Izzy just escapes to the empty terrace and sucks down another drink. The alcohol does its job of making her feel distant from her misery, like it belongs to someone else.

So what if she’s almost 30 and has never been in a long-term relationship? She likes being on her own. And she’s not really alone. She has Clary.

Almost like she’s summoned by Isabelle’s thoughts, the terrace doors open behind her and Clary appears. Relief fills her face at finding Izzy with her empty Martini glass.

“Hey, I’m so sorry,” she says. “I got your texts. What’s going on?”

Izzy shrugs as Clary joins her. “My job sucks. My love life is nonexistent. I’m an eternal disappointment to the Lightwood name.”

A frown forms on her roommate’s face. Clary lays her hand over Isabelle’s arm in support. “Iz, no. You can’t let Maryse get to you. Look at all that you’ve accomplished by _yourself_. Screw her disapproval. You should be proud.”

Izzy turns her face away, trying and failing to hide the tears that drip down her cheeks. “How pathetic is it that I still care what she thinks? Why am I not enough for her?”

The empty glass is taken out of her hand and set down somewhere behind her. Then Clary’s smaller but strong frame is wrapped around her in a fierce hug. Isabelle tries to stay stoic for about five seconds before she breaks and buries her face in Clary’s hair.

The hug goes on a while, until Isabelle’s breathing is deep and steady. Then Clary steps back to face her. She has to reach up to rest her hands on Izzy’s shoulders. Even in heels, Clary is still shorter than her and it’s honestly adorable.

“Iz, listen to me,” Clary says. Her green eyes bore into her, always blazing. “You are enough. More than enough. Your mom can’t see that, but I can. What you’ve done is so brave. You’ve _inspired_ me. You inspire me everyday.”

This time, the tears that tickle Isabelle's throat are the good kind. Clary’s words unburden her, stripping off the weight of her mother’s disappointment like the clipping of strings. Under the fire of Clary’s gaze, she feels  _seen_ for the first time. Understood. So many people thought Isabelle was an idiot for rejecting her parents' fortune and choosing to start over as a waitress, of all things. Even Alec struggled to understand why Izzy was making things so difficult for herself. 

But Clary got it. Clary was there for every struggle, every set back, every promotion. She was Isabelle's biggest supporter and always believed in what Izzy dreamed for herself, cheering her on at Izzy's lowest moments when it all seemed futile. Clary never let her give up. 

“What would I do without you?” Izzy murmurs.

Clary smiles softly. “You never have to find out.”

In the dim glow of the outdoor lighting, Clary’s pretty features look almost ethereal. Her pink lips are so soft and tempting. Maybe it’s her fuzzy brain or the emotional night, but the thought crosses Izzy’s mind like striking gold. She has to kiss her.

So she does, leaning in until their mouths brush.

She hears Clary gasp. Isabelle wonders if she feels the shock of electricity too. Either way, she is emboldened to press her lips against hers firmer until they fall into a real kiss. Because that’s what this unfamiliar sensation is—free-falling into something unknown.

Isabelle has always craved freedom and adventure. She never thought she would discover a taste of it here, in Clary’s arms.

Clary kisses her back. She has none of Isabelle’s careful exploration. She is Clary Fairchild, born with fire and boldness in her veins. Her tiny hands sink into Izzy’s hair and Clary’s mouth skillfully parts hers to plunge her tongue inside.

She is more aggressive than any guy Isabelle has ever kissed and God, if that isn’t hot.

Clary’s fierce, biting kisses makes her flush all over. Izzy’s stomach flutters and her knees shake and she needs a minute, probably more, to catch her breath right now.

Isabelle steps back, drawing in a gasping breath. The world appears the same, which is crazy since it has shifted on its axis.

Her roommate stares back at her with wide eyes. Her cheeks are tinged pink and her mouth is smeared by Isabelle’s oxblood lipstick. She is beautiful. A fact Izzy knows, has known, but hits with a wave of _I want her_. So that’s new.

Then Clary breaks into giggles. “Um, Iz? What are we doing?”

 _We_ , not _you_. Because no matter what happens, Isabelle knows they’re in it together.

Izzy shakes her head, dazed. “I don’t know. I’m probably drunk. I feel like I should apologize.”

Clary smirks. “Don’t be sorry. That was a great kiss.”

She laughs too, a bit hysterically. She just kissed her roommate, her best friend. This is _Clary_. What the hell are they doing?

Once she actually catches her breath, Isabelle looks back at the terrace doors. The rehearsal dinner is still happening. She had completely forgotten about it, the wedding, her mother, everything. Nothing else existed once her lips touched Clary’s.

“We should go back in,” she says.

Clary nods. She starts to walk forward, but Isabelle reaches out for her wrist. “Wait.”

Her eyes watch in puzzlement as Isabelle roots through her purse for a napkin and her compact. She hands the items off to Clary to fix her appearance. Once they’re presentable, Isabelle hooks her arm through Clary’s and they walk back into the party together. 

—

Simon whistles lowly as he lets himself into his hotel room. He’s in high spirits, still running off adrenaline from the rehearsal dinner. His speech went off without a hitch and got a few laughs. One of the townie guests gave Simon her number. And he managed not to think about his ex throughout the whole thing. It’s been a good night.

He heads straight to his suitcase to find a bathing suit. Izzy and Clary are waiting for him in the hotel’s hot tub.

Simon changes quickly. Then he spots his cell phone sitting on the nightstand from where he accidentally left it charging hours ago. He isn’t expecting to find much, since most of his social circle is here in Idris, but he can’t resist the impulse of checking his phone either.

His screen lights up with 11 missed calls from Maia.

Simon’s stomach drops out. Something bad has happened. Why is his ex-girlfriend calling him? His mind immediately jumps to thoughts of his mom and Rebecca.  

His hands tremble as he calls her back, all the while praying that his family is okay. She answers on the third ring. “Simon! Oh thank God.”

“Maia.” His voice comes out breathless with fear. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she growls. “Your dumbass friend is making the worst decision I’ve seen outside of reality television.”

Simon blinks a few times. “What?”

“Jace is on a flight over there, Simon,” she exclaims. “He’s coming to confess his undying love to Alec or some bullshit like that.”

He isn’t sure whether to laugh or look around the room for the hidden camera. He must be hearing her wrong. There is no way Maia is telling him the truth right now.

“Tell me this a joke,” he says. “You’re screwing with me, right?”

Maia sighs deeply. “No, Simon. I’m not. I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s on a mission, apparently. He wouldn’t listen to me about what a mistake this is.”

Gradually, it sinks in that this is real. This is a situation that they have to deal with. Simon starts rubbing his eyes frantically.

“Shit. This is bad. This is _really_ bad.”

“Yes,” Maia agrees. “Hence, my 11 missed calls. You have to stop him!”

“Right, okay.” Simon pauses for a breath. “I’m going to deal with this. Thanks, Maia, for calling me and everything.”

“No problem.”

He clears his throat. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

The next pause lingers and he worries that he’s gone too far over some invisible boundary. But then she says quietly, “You too. Bye, Simon.”

“Bye.”

Simon hangs up and stares blankly at the blue hotel room walls for a minute. Jace is on his way over here. The weird thing is, Simon was almost _waiting_ for this to happen. Not quite like this, at the actual wedding, but somehow. He expected Jace to come clean to Alec about his feelings.

Of course, his roommate picked the absolute worst time for it.

Simon tries calling him. It goes straight to voicemail.

“Hey, buddy. I hope your audition went well. Just checking in, but uh, what the _fuck_ are you doing? You know Alec hates surprises! Can’t you just get him an expensive gift off the registry? Anyway, call me back. This is Simon.”

He shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs his room key, and bustles out the door to find Isabelle and Clary.

They’re giggling in the hot tub when he arrives and he laments having to break up the light moment. Izzy has been so tense this weekend and he is about to make it _so_ much worse.

Their reaction goes about as well as expected. Which is to say, Simon is honestly surprised steam doesn’t shoot out of Clary’s ears and a lightning bolt isn’t summoned by the strength of Isabelle’s wrath.

Izzy pushes herself out of the hot tub, still dripping wet and snatches the phone out of Simon’s hand. He backs off immediately to stay out of the war path.

The colorful voicemail that Izzy leaves in Jace’s inbox frightens Simon to the core of his being.

Clary is shaking her head when Izzy hands his phone back. “I’m going to kill him.”

She scoffs. “ _I’m_ going to kill him first. You get the remains.”

Simon winces. “That’s graphic.”

“Seriously,” Isabelle snaps. “What the hell is he thinking? Jace is impulsive, but this is a new low. If he ruins this wedding, I’m going to wring his pretty neck and wear it like a scarf!”

“Christ, Izzy,” Simon chokes. “We get it. Your mind is a dark and twisted place.”

“What are we going to do?” Clary asks.

“We stop him,” Izzy says firmly. With her hands planted on her hips, she looks to Clary and Simon to make sure they’re on board with the plan. “As soon as he gets here, whoever sees him first will talk some goddamn sense into him! I don’t care if you have to tackle him. He’s not going to ruin this.”

Simon and Clary both nod. Honestly, he’s so freaked out by Isabelle’s threats in the voicemail that if she commanded them to bury a body right now, he’d agree to it.

“I’ll talk to Lydia in the morning,” he offers.

“Alec and Magnus are _never_ to find out about this,” Izzy adds, piercing them both with her warning glare. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Clary says.

“Agreed,” Simon mutters.  

—

In the morning, Clary wakes up with a dull ache behind her eyelids.

She didn’t drink much at the rehearsal dinner, maybe a couple glasses of champagne. Definitely not enough for a hangover. Clary tries to remember the time after that.

She remembers sneaking into the hot tub with Izzy around midnight. A bit after Simon left, they returned to their hotel room and raided the mini bar. Her memories after that are fuzzy around the edges.

A flash of sitting on the carpeted floor with Izzy, laughing and taking shots. Daring Izzy to lick a body shot off her stomach and she _did_. Clary untying Izzy’s bikini top with her teeth…

Oh no.

Her eyes snap open to survey the damage. Clary ignores the pounding in her skull to look around their hotel room. Sure enough, there’s a mess of empty mini liquor bottles and shot glasses littering the floor. Two pair of bathing suits have also been abandoned.

Across from her, Izzy’s bed is perfectly made. Not having been slept in.

Clary’s pulse starts to thump so hard she can feel it in her throat. Her mind already knows the answer, but she has to check. A glance under the sheets confirms that she’s completely naked. And curled up beside her, her dark hair fanned across Clary’s pillow, is Isabelle.

“Shit,” Clary hisses. “ _Izzy_.”

There’s a chance they just fell asleep in the same bed. They were drunk enough to pass out. A possibility Clary is going to cling to with both hands, because the reality that she slept with Isabelle Lightwood is too much for her to handle.

Izzy doesn’t stir, seemingly dead to the world. Clary reaches out to poke at her bare shoulder. She stabs at her hard and then takes to shaking her, knowing her roommate is a heavy sleeper.

“Oh my god,” Izzy groans, springing upward. “ _What?_ ”

Before Clary can say a word, their hotel room door swings open. Clary ducks under the sheets immediately, praying that whoever it is can’t see her.

“Morning, Iz!” a familiar voice greets her.

“Alec,” Isabelle gasps. Her voice turns high-pitched. “Good morning, big bro! What can I do for you?”

Alec laughs, closing the door behind him. “Just wanted to check on you. Magnus was worried. He said Mom was being hard on you last night.”

Clary swears to herself. Her eyes squeeze shut from her hiding place. Of course he’s going to come in _right now_.

“Oh,” she exhales. “That’s sweet. But I’m okay. I just have a killer hangover. I probably need some more sleep to get over it.”

There’s a long pause. She hears Alec’s footsteps on the carpet. _Fuck_. One look at this trashed room and it won’t take much to figure out what happened here last night.

Instead of the beautiful photo album, Clary is going to give Alec a heart attack on his wedding day.

“Wow,” Alec says. “It looks like you guys had fun last night. You didn’t go streaking around the hotel or something, did you?”

Clary flinches. She feels Isabelle freeze beside her. “Uh…”

“Never mind,” Alec retorts quickly. “I don’t want to know. Lydia and I are having breakfast downstairs if you want to join us.”

“Ugh. I’m feeling too nauseous to eat. No thanks.”

“Okay,” Alec says, mercifully moving back towards the door. Clary hears it open and prays he goes without asking any more questions. There’s another pause as Clary listens to her own heart thumping.

Alec clears his throat. “Iz, have you heard anything from Jace? He hasn’t answered my calls.”

Izzy’s voice hardens. “No. Radio silence.”

He sighs heavily. “Okay. Let me know if you do.”

The door shuts. Hardly a moment passes before the sheets are yanked off of her.

“Clary, what the hell?”

“Your brother really needs to learn how to knock,” Clary grumbles.

Izzy widens her eyes at her. “ _Clary_.”

She knows this is a serious situation with horrible timing. But Clary’s first thought at seeing Isabelle with her messy bedhead and doe eyes smeared with mascara is, _she’s so cute_.

“I don’t know,” she admits helplessly. “Did we…?”

Izzy stares back at her with the same fear stark in her eyes. This is a line they’ve never crossed. A line that can’t be _uncrossed_ once they pass the threshold. After this moment, Clary is afraid the most important bond in her life—her anchor—will be lost.

“Yeah,” Izzy says, voice soft. “I think we did.”

Clary nods. “Do you think it counts if we don’t remember it?”

Izzy’s eyes drop to the bed. Clary can tell by the wrinkle in between her brows that Izzy’s brilliant mind is thinking this over, analyzing every angle. She’s the smartest person Clary knows and she trusts Isabelle’s judgment to see them through this.

Then Izzy surprises her by reaching for her hand. She threads their fingers together. “I want it to mean something.”

Clary gapes at their interlocked fingers. She doesn’t know what it means. If someone asked her a week ago if she would ever kiss, let alone sleep with, her roommate Clary would laugh in their face. Yet here they are.

“Iz, I can’t lose you.”

“Hey.” Isabelle ducks her head to meet Clary’s lowered eyes. “You won’t. You’ll always have me, Clary. Let’s just get through this trip. And when we get home, we’ll figure this out.”

Clary lets out a breath for what feels like the first time that morning. “Yeah, okay.”

They get up and take their turns showering. As they get dressed, Clary puts on one of their favorite Spotify playlists and lets the music fill the room so they don’t have to talk.

Today is Alec’s wedding and Isabelle has sisterly duties to attend to, so Clary waves her off when she says she has to go. Her appetite is nonexistent. Clary decides to skip breakfast and stay in the room.

She unpacks one of her sketchbooks and sits on the bed, letting her hands keep her mind busy. When she’s drawing or painting, Clary prefers to allow her creativity to roam unleashed. She doesn’t try to control what her soul aches to create.

Which is how she ends up sketching Isabelle from memory on the terrace last night. Her skin illuminated by a golden glow. Her lips painted in deep oxblood. The long lines of her black silk dress, down to the slit where her legs peeked through. She draws Isabelle in all of her enchanting beauty for what must be the umpteenth time.

Her sketchbooks are crammed with drawings of her. Izzy has played her muse for years now, always offering to pose whenever Clary got an idea in her head.

Somewhere along the line, it became _Izzy_ herself that inspired Clary. She wasn’t lying when she told Izzy that she gave her inspiration everyday. It only occurs to Clary now that she stopped sketching interesting strangers on the subway or hot guys in coffee shops that caught her eye. Now, her subjects always wore Izzy’s face or had a trace of her smile or her dark, lovely eyes.

Thrown by this realization, Clary shuts her sketchbook and gets to her feet. She no longer wants to be alone with her thoughts.

She finds her phone to call Simon and see if he’ll visit the local coffee shop with her in town.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you in the lobby,” he agrees.

Clary smiles. “Perfect. We can talk about all the flirting you did with Raphael last night.”

She hangs up on Simon’s flustered stuttering. She’d rather focus on someone else’s love life instead of her complicated own. 

—

Jace knows better than to tell any of his friends he’s on his way to the wedding. He ignores their calls and deletes their voicemails from his inbox, lest they succeed in talking him out of this.

However, this means that when Jace arrives in Idris, he is completely on his own. He spends half an hour after landing at the small airport trying to determine which hotel everyone is staying at. Thankfully, there aren’t _that_ many options and Jace figures it out.

He makes it to the Whitechapel Hotel with merely an hour to spare before the ceremony.

When entering the lobby, it becomes obvious an important event is taking place on the grounds. There are employees bustling everywhere, finalizing last minute details before the big show begins. Jace is lucky it creates a distraction while he checks in.

He spots Maryse and Robert Lightwood on his way to the elevators and has to duck behind a tall plant to hide himself, feeling absolutely ridiculous.

Is he supposed to dodge every wedding guest he sees before finding Alec? Why is he even hiding like a refugee on the run from the law? It’s not like he’s _banned_ from the wedding.

Jace is still puzzling out these questions to himself when he feels someone grab a hold of his jacket. He is yanked off of his feet and dragged backwards into a dark room.

Then the light flickers on and Jace finds himself standing in a closet opposite the enraged faces of Isabelle and Clary and an exasperated Simon.

Izzy smacks him on the side of the head before he can speak. “Herondale, what the _fuck_?”

“Ow!” Jace cries. “I just got here! What’s your problem?”

She scoffs. “Nice try. Maia called Simon and told him all about your little plan. Seriously, Jace, have you lost your fucking mind?”

Of course. Jace throws his head back to groan. Rookie mistake. He should have kept his mouth shut.

He aims his glower at Simon. "Thanks for the warning, bro." 

Simon raises his hands in front of himself. "Did you not hear Isabelle's voicemail threatening to castrate you? Jace, you're a great roommate and all, but I am not willing to  _die_ for you!" 

“Look,” Jace huffs. “I just want to talk to him. You’re not going to change my mind, so you might as well get out of my way.”

Clary stops him by grabbing his wrist, although her eyes are soft and sympathetic. “Jace. You know you can’t do this to him. I’m sorry. It’s too late.”

Jace shakes his head. He won’t let them shake the resolve that got him on a plane and across the country to pour his heart out. “No, it’s not. Not yet.”

Clary doesn’t let go of him. She takes his other wrist in her grasp, holding on like she can keep him rooted to the spot. “Jace, please. This isn’t just about Alec, okay? We’re thinking about you too. I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

Damn it. That stops him. And damn _them_ , they know it.

Isabelle steps up, anger still shining in her eyes, but there’s concern there too. “Listen to her. Do you have any idea how painful it is to tell someone that you love them and not hear it back?”

Jace’s jaw clenches, his thoughts whirling too fast to latch onto. All valid points he had time to go over during the long flight here. But there is one he kept circling back to. The _what if._ What if they’re wrong? What if Alec feels the same and this is _their_ only shot?

Jace believes in them, even if no one else does.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Jace admits, looking at each of them. His closest friends. “And I don’t care if it hurts. I know I’ll hate myself if I never tell Alec how I feel.”

“Jace!”

He ignores their voices calling after him as he leaves the coat closet. His friends are probably running after him, but that doesn’t matter anymore. All he cares about is finding Alec.

It isn’t difficult to locate the outdoor area where the ceremony will take place, next to hotel's gardens. Jace follows after a line of employees in uniform and steps under the large, white canopy. His eyes hunt over the venue, blind to the pomp and decorations, searching for the tall, dark head of the man he is madly in love with.

Then Jace sees him, standing in middle of the aisle with his back to him. He rushes over, only to draw to a halt at the sight of the happy couple embracing each other.

Alec and Magnus are kissing, lost in their own world.

There’s something about the image of the two grooms dressed in their tuxes, against the backdrop of their wedding venue that manages to hit Jace like a downpour of ice water. Dousing the blaze of his determination, his hope. All that is left over is the cold realization of what a _fool_ he’s been.

There is no chance. Alec is pledging his life to this man today. Alec wouldn't make that kind of promise without meaning it wholeheartedly. He's in love with Magnus. 

He can’t do it. Not here, not like this.

Whatever time he had to tell Alec about his feelings, whatever possibility that might have lingered between them once, is long gone. Jace can already taste the regret, like ashes in the back of his throat. Everyone else is right. He’s too late.

It’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Crushing the hope that burned inside him with his own fist. Shutting out his feelings behind a steel door, so they can never see the light of day again. It isn’t for Alec to ever know about. The _what if_ will remained unanswered and Jace will have to live with that.

He has to let Alec go.

Jace makes himself watch them kiss, even while his own heart snaps in half for what feels like the first time, all over again.

He makes himself see it and mourn it silently. Everything he will never have. He and Alec are only ever going to be friends. Jace is never going to kiss him. To know Alec’s taste. Or wake up next to him, with stubble on his jaw and his messy dark hair all tousled adorably, falling in his eyes.

He won’t hold his hand. He won’t wear his ring. Alec will never call him _his_. And Jace is never going to hear an _I love you_ from Alec’s lips.

Jace blinks fresh tears out of his eyes. He vows to himself that this will be the last time he cries over Alec Lightwood. No more.

When he looks again, Alec and Magnus have broken apart. Magnus is gone, talking to someone else at the front of the room. Alec is turning around and then; their eyes lock across the aisle.

Alec stills. His eyes widen, disbelief coloring his face before he breaks into a wide grin. “Jace!”

Happiness floods through him. Jace almost forgot what it feels like. But he remembers, at his best friend’s obvious joy to see him and in Jace’s answering smile as he sprints over to him.

He laughs when they hug, clasping their arms around each other tightly, and if the sound is a bit watery, well, the occasion calls for it.

Jace steps back and Alec’s hands remain on his shoulders as he gazes down at him. His lips quick into a wry smile. “Is this your wedding present? Yourself?”

“I didn’t get you anything else, so…” Jace shrugs. “You’re welcome.”

Alec shakes his head slowly, still recovering from his shock. “I can’t believe you made it. Really cutting it close there, Herondale.”

Jace nods. His pulse is fluttering in his throat, leftover from the surges of adrenaline that propelled him here. He sucks in a few breaths to bring himself back and recoup from what has been an emotional whiplash of the past 48-hours.

“I just—I just wanted to say…,” Jace rasps, unable to disguise the break in his voice. “Congratulations.”

Alec beams at him. He looks so happy. “I’m not actually married _yet_ , but thanks.”

Jace runs his eyes over him. He’s seen Alec in every state in their many years of friendship, at his best and at his worst. But his best friend has never looked as handsome as he does then, dressed in his three-piece suit. The color does wonders to bring out the green in his eyes. 

He reaches out to adjust the lapels of Alec’s jacket, as if anything can improve the perfection in front of him. Maybe he can’t resist the impulse the touch him, for old time’s sake.

Alec watches him with warm eyes. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Jace looks up and smiles. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

He should apologize, beg for forgiveness. His behavior during Alec’s engagement has been inexcusable. But it’s not the right time. This isn’t about him, not today. Maybe, like Alec said, the fact that he’s here is enough.

Someone calls Alec’s name over his shoulder. Jace nods at him to go. They’ll find time to catch up later, probably. More pressing matters need Alec’s attention.

Clary and Isabelle come up to stand beside him, the former resting her hand on Jace's back. "You did the right thing." 

"Yeah," Jace agrees. For once, he believes it. 

— 

He finds a seat next to Simon and Clary for the ceremony. They stand up together, turning to gaze down the aisle as the wedding procession commences.

In another life, Jace would have accepted Alec’s offer, walked down the aisle arm-in-arm with Catarina, and stood beside Alec as his best man.

Jace has a lot of regrets for his young age, but neglecting to be Alec’s best man isn’t one of them. Lydia has done an excellent job as Best Woman, far better than Jace could have accomplished in this life, while nursing his own heartbreak.

The ceremony passes in a blur. Jace watches it unfold outside of his own body, like he is separate from himself. He is only aware of the weight of Clary’s hand gripping his, silently grateful for the support of his friends.

He is numb watching Magnus slide the silver band onto Alec’s finger. Numb as Magnus recites his vows, with emotion thickening his voice, “I take thee, Alexander…for as long as we both shall live.”

Alec’s smile is radiant as he looks at Magnus. He turns around to accept the wedding band from Lydia, who has tears in her eyes despite her typical stoicism.

Alec takes Magnus’s hand to glide the ring into place. A pause lingers there, one that Jace is unsure if anyone else notices beside him. But he sees it, a moment in which Alec looks down at Magnus’s hand and something ripples in his expression.

Jace is prepared for Alec to be overcome with his own joyful tears. A part of him will rejoice too, because Alec’s happiness is far more important than his pain.

But nothing could have prepared Jace for what actually happens.

Ragnor, officiating the wedding for the couple, instructs Alec on where to begin his vows.

Alec licks his lips before he speaks. “I take thee, Jace…”

The whole room seems to suck in the same collective breath and hold it. Jace feels his jaw drop. The only evidence he has that he’s not dreaming is the way Clary’s nails pinch into his hand. At the top of the aisle, Alec is frozen, his eyes wider than Jace has ever seen them. 

Alec said  _his_ name. _Holy shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> I'll do my best to have Part III up soon :-)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://www.bisexual-jace.tumblr.com)


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